A Broken Coin 1: Two Halves
by ProcrastinationIsMyCrime
Summary: "Look, mate. There are places out there where sorcerers are happy. I've seen my share and this isn't one of them. Just…just think about it." Gwaine's loyalty had always been to him, not Arthur, and that same loyalty will steer the future in ways beyond imagination. But simply leaving Camelot won't free his kin. He must do much more. But how much can or will he do? Post S4. Reveal.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.**

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

 _"Blah"_ Telepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

 _Blah_ Thoughts or emphasised words.

XXXXXXX New POV

 **A Broken Coin 1:**

Chapter 1

The warlock was in no immediate danger but tensely rode in his saddle nonetheless, eyes would routinely dart to the silent king beside him. Merlin and four mounted men behind him who didn't speak a word, as their leader and king, Arthur, silently rode under the overcast sky of late spring. Merlin knew something had been bothering his good friend all day, but his king had said nothing since their wake this morning.

Setting up of camp by the patrol party was swift and quiet, for Merlin wasn't the only one casting wary eyes as he unpacked for the night. Merlin prepared dinner without making much sound, letting it simmer in the pot while his eyes followed Arthur to the beach. Even Gwaine refrained from his jovial self as he watched Merlin cook, an oddity considering the care-free knight's hate for silence.

As the fire crackled in the otherwise empty night, the manservant and warlock went over to his master and king. Remaining silent for a short while, he watched his friend stare out towards the ocean as they stood on the sandy beach.

 _Had he seen me last night?_

"Arthur…?"

"It's six months to the day, Merlin."

He didn't need Arthur to elaborate on what he meant. Six months ago was the last attempt by Morgana to conquer Camelot with the help of Agravaine, Helios and the warlord's men. At first, the warlock didn't understand why Arthur was bothered but considering they'd had six months of relative peace, Merlin presumed it was to do with seeing neither hide nor hair of Morgana.

"But it is men like you and the knights, Merlin, I know I can trust," Arthur continued in gratitude after his pause. A tiny sigh escaped Merlin's lips. "You've never faltered in the fight against the evils of magic which twisted Morgana into a corrupt woman."

Instead of feeling proud that Arthur held him with such confidence, he looked down at the sand for a moment with one hand clenched behind his back. Shame for the lies he told every day to keep his head on his shoulders, ashamed for never mustering the courage to tell Arthur about his magic. At the same time, Merlin acknowledged a very real reason for keeping the secret. Arthur had developed a hate for magic over the years as Merlin continued to dig himself a deeper hole each time he messed up in trying to show the truth of magic. With this in mind and no intention to die or lose Arthur's friendship, Merlin looked back up and strode over to Arthur's side, before proceeding to try and lighten the mood.

"Go and eat your stew before it goes cold, you prat."

Arthur didn't say anything and wandered over to camp, looking back for a moment because Merlin hadn't followed, but left him there and continued. Merlin continued to remain on the beach as he opted to watch the cloudy night sky but almost jumped when the sound of approaching boots on sand reached his ears. Glancing over at the source Merlin calmed before looking back out to the ocean.

"You've got to tell the man soon, Merlin. If he doesn't like you for who you are, then he's not a real friend," Gwaine murmured from his flank, soon coming into view. "You are mine, though, and where you go, I go."

Sighing in...something, Merlin shook his head slightly before looking to Gwaine entirely. "I can't tell him yet, Gwaine. Not until he warms up to magic a little."

Gwaine had known about his magic for a few years now. Since the quest to the Perilous Lands, the secret noble had been encouraging him to tell their king if he trusted Arthur, but out of fear the warlock still had yet to do so.

"I won't make you do it if you don't want to, but you deserve better than this, Merlin. I've seen places where you'd be happy."

The warlock looked to Gwaine with a raised eyebrow, who knew the truth and had seen Merlin use magic over the years. Without looking back and his hands clasped together behind his back, Merlin remained where he was. "What are you talking about, Gwaine?" he asked for a moment before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. I have to protect Arthur and make sure he becomes the king he is meant to be."

The soldier released a light scoff. "Tell me you don't honestly believe in that thing, do you?"

Merlin maintained his gaze.

Gwaine sighed in one of defeat. "Just because that lizard said something is true, it doesn't mean it is. Life is what you make of it, not what others tell you…" the knight reasoned before dropping the topic of prophecy and nudging his shoulder, which made him look. "Look, mate. There are places out there where sorcerers are happy. I've seen my share, and this isn't one of them. Just…just think about it."

Turning his gaze to the night sky, Merlin felt Gwaine clasp his shoulder for a moment before wandering off, his boots becoming quiet on the sand until Merlin was alone once more.

The warlock remained on the shore for a moment longer before returning to camp, being quiet for the rest of the night while his mind was loud with clashing thoughts. He heard only the occasional murmurs between the knights until it was time for all to get some shuteye, and Gwaine due to stand as the first watch.

However, Merlin repeated stirred within his bedroll despite his need for sleep and with a nod to Gwaine he left the campsite alone, making for the trees half a league away. In the quiet night and under cover of the woods the lone warlock fiddled with broken twigs.

 _What is Aithusa like now? Last I saw her I hatched her from her egg._

Having no real reason to want the dragon other than a desire for the company of his kin, Merlin spoke the words of summoning in the dragon tongue. " _O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!"_

Unaware of what Aithusa was doing or her current location, the dragonlord chose to be patient and rest against a sturdy trunk to give her time to arrive, however, thirty minutes dragged onto forty-five and Merlin was growing concerned. Incanting the summoning again, Merlin got to his feet and began to pace when Arthur's words came to the forefront of his mind.

 _'But it is men like you and the knights, Merlin; I know I can trust.'_

 _I just want him to know who I am._

 _But would I be able to do it?_

Turning in the direction of camp and Arthur, Merlin felt his shoulders sag in defeat. His friend and sovereign had been living with misconceptions towards magic for too long and if he was to come forward and say he had magic he knew what the outcome would be: an ugly one.

His arms behind his back as he paced and dwelled on the helplessness of his position in the grand scheme of things, Merlin's thoughts drifted to what Gwaine had said. However, they vanished as fast as they'd come. In front of him at that moment was Aithusa looking healthy but a little worn, folding her wings and coming to rest on the ground.

"Who are you?"

Upon being reminded that they hadn't met since he'd hatched her, Merlin felt a little foolish.

"I'm Merlin, Aithusa-"

"How do you know my name?" the young dragon cut in, reminding him of someone forever gone in his eyes.

 _Morgana…_

Taking a good look at her, Merlin could see some other familiar traits in her mannerisms but got on with answering the question. "I hatched you, Aithusa. I named you."

There was a brief moment of recognition and a nod from the dragon. It was then that Merlin noticed the moonlight touch some scratched scales, and vegetation doesn't scratch dragon scales.

"Aithusa? What happened to you? I thought you were with Kilgharrah; he would never forgive himself if you got harmed in his care," Merlin asked, coming closer and running his hands over the indents. A feeling of concern was dominant as various scenarios went through his mind. There was one particular idea that kept coming back to him the more he thought about it because it would explain the scratches, her wariness and the display of attitude.

It seemed Aithusa wasn't in the mood to speak. However, that was solved when she looked into his eyes and images came crashing into his mind.

 _Flying over a forest, Aithusa spotted an injured woman lying on the floor of leaves, branches and dirt, who appeared to be unconscious. Slowly circling down to the ground Aithusa took attentive steps towards the brunette and gently sniffed the air, becoming alarmed at the smell of blood wafting from the body._

Merlin stiffened slightly at the sight of Morgana near Aithusa but remained quiet and continued to watch.

 _The young dragon breathed onto the woman wishing her to heal and get better, after a day of watching over her, she eventually came around and at first was panicked but when she established this magical creature meant no harm, she relaxed._

He was alarmed about Morgana's healing. However, the fact she hadn't done anything to Camelot for months since it was last reclaimed left Merlin a little worried. In the past, if she'd remained quiet for any extended period the next move she made against Arthur was worse than the usual 'kill Arthur' schemes or division between people of the court.

 _For several weeks the witch and Aithusa spent time together, venturing to whatever place Morgana had in mind, however when the memories reached the current night there was an ambush by far too many bandits, and Aithusa was forced to flee upon the undeniable power of a dragonlord's summoning. Morgana's screams of betrayal pierced Aithusa's heart and saddened her when the angry woman was knocked unconscious and chained with manacle bearing the markings of the Old Religion, the white dragon regrettably flying away from the scene below._

Merlin could barely take his eyes off Aithusa. Never had he ever thought Aithusa would become acquaintances with the vengeful Pendragon, and felt unnerved at what could have become of Aithusa had she spent any more time with Morgana. All young beings were impressionable, and he could only hope the witch hadn't gotten her figurative claws too deeply into Aithusa's mind to manipulate one of Camelot's - no _Albion's_ greatest hopes.

Looking the young dragon over, Merlin learnt that scratched scales were his only concern. He couldn't do much about the scales, to be frank, because the majority of spells he knew were for fighting, not healing, as well as the fact dragons naturally grew new ones under the damaged scales, which would fall off later like a human scab. Seated next to Aithusa, the warlock absently petting her snout and became lost in thought about everything.

 _He remembered his mother speaking inside their cottage many years ago. 'When the time is right, the truth will be known. Until then, you must keep your talents hidden. It's better for everyone.'_

Looking to Aithusa for a moment it brought on thoughts about her situation; lonely in the world and only an old mentor for guidance, Kilgharrah. Shaking his head at the similarity to his situation and getting up, Merlin began quiet pacing while his mind was loud and clear with snippets of conversations from the past.

Speaking to his mother softly in the night by a fire. ' _If it comes to a choice between saving people's lives and revealing who I really am… there is no choice.'_

An angered Prince Arthur shouting within his lavish chambers. ' _You know, Merlin, you couldn't keep a secret if your life depended on it!'_

Gaius, scolding him. ' _If Uther ever found out things would never be the same again. It must remain a secret.'_

Outside the throne room with Merlin, Lancelot muttered as he looked to Merlin. ' _"Bregdan anweald" Don't worry you're secret is safe with me.'_

Speaking to Mother during their journey to save Ealdor. ' _And if he doesn't accept me for who I am, then, he wasn't the friend I thought he was.'_

In private Merlin spoke to Gilli inside the Rising Sun Tavern. ' _It's lonely. To…., be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow. To be special and have to pretend you're a fool. I know how it feels... I…understand.'_

Inside the Council Chambers was a devastated King Arthur. ' _What I know for sure is I've lost both my parents to magic... It is pure evil.'_

An optimistic Morgana years ago in her chambers, before she'd lost hope. ' _Maybe one day people will come to see magic as a force for good.'_

It was a hard blow when the memory of Morgana's optimism and hope came to the front of his mind. He'd believed at the time that everything would be alright. However, the current situation was anything but alright. A once compassionate and kind woman was now cold and full of hate thanks to the moment he betrayed her with poison.

' _Magic is our only hope... It is your destiny, Merlin. The true purpose of your magic.'_ Gaius muttered as they tried to solve the griffin attack.

Merlin spoke to Gaius in despair after the death of Uther. ' _Magic will still be outlawed. I've turned Arthur against it forever.'_

A furious Prince Arthur shouted at 'Dragoon' in the King's Chambers. ' _You've killed him!'_

' _If I can't use magic, I might as well die.'_ Merlin confided to Gaius long ago.

' _You are the one Arthur should knight... You are the bravest of us all, and he doesn't even know it.'_ Lancelot whispered in the night inside an abandoned castle as the others slept.

Worry was etched into his mother's face as they sat by a campfire. ' _Promise me you will be careful... No one can find out about you.'_

Merlin replied to Lancelot inside the abandoned castle. ' _He can't... Not yet.'_

He could feel the weight of his destiny crushing him, choking him as he knew deep down that he'd failed.

Camelot would never see a time of real freedom.

Pacing the leafy floor and troubled by those snippets of memory, Merlin noticed Aithusa watching intently with sharp light blue eyes that followed him, having a look of satisfaction before going to sleep.

 _What was all that about?_

"Merlin?" called out the concerned voice of Gwaine. Naturally, he recalled the end of their conversation earlier this evening.

Gwaine and himself talking on a sandy beach. ' _There are places out there where sorcerers are happy. I've seen my share, and this isn't one of them. Just…just think about it.'_

Never before had Gwaine suggested something such as leaving Camelot. The knight's loyalty was more towards Merlin than Arthur, and over the last six months, Gwaine had urged Merlin, to be honest about his magic. When asked why Gwaine answered that he just wanted his best mate to be free; magic and all.

In a moment of weakness Merlin could feel temptation as he contemplated the suggestion for just a second, his lingering hope of destiny spiralling down into a dark abyss of his mind. Inside himself, Merlin knew his goal had shifted to protecting Arthur, and the desire for magical freedom forsaken as his circumstances only worsened over the years. The warlock, on the other hand, felt it was too late for Arthur ever to accept magic or take Merlin seriously. He was well aware Camelot's court saw him as an idiotic manservant and never believed his warnings of danger; except for Gaius and Gwaine.

Ever attempting to convince Arthur at this point that magic wasn't inherently evil would be alike to shouting at a brick wall. The prince-turned-king he'd served and accompanied by all kinds of danger for six years should trust Merlin and take him seriously, but that was nothing more than an impossible dream. He'd become more and more of a jester in the eyes of the people over time since coming to Camelot. He was taken seriously earlier in his life at Camelot, but that had gone downhill as years passed.

"Merlin."

Looking up to the knight, Merlin nodded to the silent, unasked question. "I'm alright."

Gwaine just shook his head. "That's horse dung, and we both know it," he replied, cautiously sitting on the ground with his eyes on the dragon and patted the leafy floor beside him. "I won't take back what I said before because it's the truth. There _are_ places out there, Merlin."

Looking up and holding his gaze, Merlin watched Gwaine's concern and confidence. "How'd you know that was on my mind?"

The knight adjusted himself to a better position, speaking quietly with his eyes on the dragon nearby. "You had that look of yours again." Merlin was unsure what he meant and furrowed his eyebrows. Gwaine just sighed as he looked to Merlin. "I see it when you think no one's watching you. I've noticed it since being knighted. Keeping quiet is no easy feat when I see it so much. I know how stubborn you can be."

Surprised that he'd unknowingly been giving himself away to Gwaine for two and a half years, Merlin could only look at the man who nodded to himself silently.

"You're miserable, Merlin. Have been for too long, mate," Gwaine pointed out raising his hand when Merlin made to object. "Hear me out first," he said, waiting until he looked sure the warlock would listen. "After this patrol, we go for a little trip. You and me will be riding out to _get rare supplies for Gaius_ ," he started with a wink. A feeling of apprehension passed through Merlin along with a sudden urge to rise to his feet.

"I don't know about this, Gwaine. The prat would be dead if it weren't for me," Merlin objected, pacing on a patch of grass with his arms crossed.

Gwaine got up and came over. "I know the Princess can't look after himself, but I'm sure he'd survive a few days with George."

That little remark caused the smallest of humoured smiles to emerge for just a moment, but Merlin became solemn. "That's not what I meant-"

"-I know," Gwaine cut him off. "It's just a few days, Merlin. I'm sure Leon and the others will keep him alive while we're gone."

Feeling uncertainty gathering within himself, Merlin turned his gaze to the ground as he clenched a handful of fallen leaves. Full of indecision, the warlock sighed and got up. "We better head back. I'll be missed by now."

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In the forest of Ascetir and standing on a vantage point that overlooked the druid camp within it, a lone young man watched the tents below and felt no sense of belonging. He wasn't oblivious to the way some of the druids looked to him, their behaviour around him, or the whispering when they thought he wasn't looking. Mordred wanted nothing more than to fit in and be accepted by his kin, but the preconceptions from a prophecy where he was predicted to kill the current king of Camelot clouded their sight from who he was.

He wasn't a murderer.

That was as much of the prophecy as he knew, for his fellow druids were resistant and wouldn't tell him what it was, which frustrated Mordred to no end. Even the clan chief, Iseldir wouldn't divulge the prophecy to Mordred.

 _What right do they think they have to withhold something about me from me? I just want to live in peace, but even here I see no real peace, only apprehension._

Turning away from the camp, Mordred picked up a bag resting against a trunk and began a journey that he hoped would pay off. If no one told him the full of this prophecy they seemed so concerned about, he would get the entirety himself. There was one place Mordred believed he could get the answers he sought, and if it didn't answer his questions, Mordred didn't know what he would do after that.

He was on the edge of the forest when a vaguely familiar voice called out to him. "Mordred?"

Upon seeing the person, Mordred blinked once and tilted his head. "Alvarr? Where have you been of late?" he asked, shifting his weight subconsciously and watching the fellow druid with sharp eyes. It was known Alvarr was a renegade druid, which only made Mordred suspicious considering what he'd witness the man do in the past.

Alvarr, a man in his mid-thirties, smiled charismatically and approached from the direction of the camp. "A little of everywhere, Mordred," he commented vaguely. "Now…Where's my favourite telepath off to?" he enquired, strutting closer at ease.

 _This is suspicious. What does he want? And Iseldir isn't too fond of Alvarr. Let's see what a little tit-for-tat will do._

"Here and there," he replied in that same mysterious manner. But in his moment of observation, he noticed something metallic glimmer a dark red in the moonlight. Darting forward with speed that surprised Alvarr, Mordred snatched an enchanted dagger out of its sheath and spotted a trace of blood near the hilt, and knowing Alvarr; it would be human. He could feel magic radiating from it as the blade held within it the blood of its most recent victim. "I want nothing to do with your business Alvarr," Mordred said firmly before returning the blade. "Whatever it is, just leave me out of it," he requested, taking a step back.

"You could make a great difference to our freedom. Our kind aches for the right to live, and you can give them that, Mordred," the renegade encouraged, looking confident as always.

He remembered the man's violence in the past and felt this could be more of the same. The cold-blooded and unnecessary killing Mordred had witnessed. With a short shake of his head, Mordred put more space between them. "The answer is no, Alvarr, and nothing will change that," Mordred repeated, keeping a sharp eye on him expecting trouble from the man.

The older druid partially made to leave, masking a brief look of disappointment but turned back for a moment, twirling his dagger. "It's quite fitting you distinguished it as human blood, Mordred," he remarked before turning away without uttering another word.

 _The man knows something, but to get anything from him I'd have to get involved in Alvarr's affairs. Something I'm not willing to do. What knowledge I do have of my destiny is already too much for liking_. Pursing his lips in irritation Mordred turned away and finally left the edge of the forest. _I won't take Alvarr's bait._

After he'd heard about part of his destiny Mordred understood the reason behind Emrys' consistent manner of distrust towards him. Who'd gone so far as to try and get the younger magic user ultimately killed, but that wasn't to say he'd forgiven Emrys for those misdeeds. He'd have to work hard to gain any of Mordred's trust and earn his full forgiveness if the man ever considered it. When someone tries to kill you or indirectly do so on at least two different occasions, it tends to stay with you.

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Having returned to the camp of the Camelot patrol, Gwaine watched as Merlin finally bedded down properly for the night before falling into a restless sleep. Back at his post for night watch, the knight couldn't help but be concerned for his best friend. Just like Gwaine knowing about Merlin's magic, the knight had secrets of his own which he'd told only the warlock long ago.

Unlike his fellow Knights of the Round Table except for Leon, he wasn't born a commoner. In fact, his father used to be a knight for King Caerleon, before an untimely death in battle. The dishonourable way the king had dismissed his mother when she'd gone to her sovereign for help afterwards drove Gwaine to despise titles, nobles and all things related to them. So, disgusted by King Caerleon and other pompous royals, Gwaine had long ago chosen to live as a commoner. No rank, no special treatment; only respect earned through his deeds and merits.

One would question why the man had become a knight and now served a king after such a history, and the answer was a little complicated. In a nutshell, it was that a friend had shown him a king who cared for the people and treated nobles no more importantly than commoners and was worth a chance.

That reason, however, was fading. The respect Gwaine had for King Arthur eroded as time went on and Gwaine's best mate lived as a shadow just to stay alive. Since meeting Merlin three years ago and giving Arthur the benefit of the doubt, Gwaine grew to realise that Arthur had no intention of extending the fair treatment to those with magic. Those with the gift still lived in fear of being burned at the stake due to the law in place here. Even Merlin, the king's best friend, hid his true self from the world because of the king.

Turning his gaze to Merlin again, Gwaine drew comfort in that knowledge that he would show Merlin a better life.

 _A life without an axe hanging over his head, and magic not feared by those without it_.

Taking a breath and releasing it into the chilly night, Gwaine continued his watch.

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In a slumbering city decorated with the red and gold flags of Camelot, Gwen still dressed in her blood red gown stood on her favourite tower of the citadel that overlooked the city. Gazing at Lower Town, Gwen felt nervous about the many duties she was learning to manage since becoming queen. She'd married to Arthur six months after the foil of Morgana's second attempt to conquer Camelot but had been in love with the man for years. In the six months since being crowned Arthur's queen, the compassionate woman underwent studies so she could do all required of her.

Gwen still had much to learn and overall found her duties a little daunting, but despite this, she did her best while Arthur was away. At the moment Arthur was giving her responsibility for managing the city in his stead while gone on patrols. Like any other student, Gwen made a mistake now and again or stumbled with her words when unsure how to speak with servants she'd worked alongside for many years. For the most part, she was doing well with the tasks thrust upon her.

Leaving the tower and making for the royal chambers, the Queen nodded to the few people she saw up at this time of night before entering the room shared with Arthur and closing the door. It was a well-furnished room with a theme of Camelot's colours, made warm by the flames in the fireplace but was missing one thing.

 _Arthur._

Going over to the dressing screen to change into her night shift the queen looked into the mirror and didn't recognise herself. Long gone was the daughter of a blacksmith living a simple life, replaced by a queen learning how to manage a kingdom. Thoughts of her life as a servant made Gwen think about Merlin.

The man had been serving in Camelot with devotion for six and a half years, diving into adventures of danger with Arthur without a second thought. He was more a friend to Arthur than a proper manservant and seemed to be married to the job of serving Arthur. Feeling a little disturbed that she'd failed to notice Merlin didn't have much of a personal life, Gwen told herself she would help rectify that. If there was one thing, she disliked more than anything else it was mistreating her friends and to her shame, she'd neglected Merlin proper attention for years unless she'd needed him.

She'd hardly spoken to him since becoming queen and riddled with guilt that a loyal person and friend had gone more or less ignored by her. With all of this in mind, Gwen told herself she'd make an effort to be a proper friend to him and ensure he got some time off. He'd never had a day to himself, and she'd make sure that he finally did. Merlin more than deserved it.

With that little vow to herself, the queen closed her eyes and went to sleep with a clear conscience.

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Peacefully seated on a log by a campfire in the countryside with her eyes wandering over the village, the woman reflected on her day here with the people of her father's kingdom. There was not a shred of royalty in her appearance, blending in so the princess could hear the people's true opinions.

The day had gone well in her eyes, as had the visits to other villages they'd visited. She'd spoken to a fair number of villagers here and most seemed content with their lives. The answer she sought was one that she couldn't outright ask them for but had to find it in their body language, and for the most part, the people were content.

Dressed in a plain outfit of brown trousers, cloak, a white shirt, and nothing is done to her hair, Mithian was playing the role of a daughter to one of two merchants travelling the countryside to sell their wares. In truth, the two men were her most trusted knights accompanying her on this little expedition. The men, however, didn't need to be as watchful as they'd been over the last week, for the small party was no longer near the borders of neighbouring kings who weren't fully trusted. Namely King Odin and King Alined the rulers of Meredor and Deorham respectively.

Mithian and her knights were due to travel north to a few other outlying villages until they reached the border shared with Camelot, a kingdom allied with Nemeth. However, Nemeth's ruling household, while officially having the same stance towards magic as Camelot, more often than not turned a blind eye. When used for immoral means such as theft, the criminal was treated just the same as any other thief. When magic's use was for good Mithian and her father pretended not to see it.

Looking into the fire, Mithian compared it to Nemeth's position. The stones contained the fire, but should one stone move and the fire begins; there would be trouble. The fire was Nemeth's secret, the stones were Nemeth's efforts to contain the secret, and the trouble would be Nemeth's neighbours learning about the magic tolerance.

Their turning of blind eyes was not to say the kingdom of Nemeth was all sunshine and daisies about magic. There was a need for discretion just in case a neighbouring king decided to send someone here to report on the happenings of her father's kingdom. It could be happening right now, and they wouldn't know. There'd never been any evidence of such a person, but you could never be too careful.

There was an unspoken rule amongst the people to protect all. Never mention or recklessly use magic inside Nemeth's borders.

Frivolous behaviour was frowned upon, for using magic without caution could endanger the kingdom and people should a neighbouring king learn the truth. Sorcerers were never punished for proper use of magic unless an individual used it carelessly in a repetitive manner. At the beginning when discretion with magic was new, those who disagreed left for Essetir out of a desire for full freedom. And her father had helped them go.

When King Rodor explained to his daughter the reason behind his decision to assist the departure of displeased sorcerers, Mithian had felt torn in the matter. Without the people, there was no kingdom, and helping citizens leave was highly contradictory to that saying. However, she understood that active or unhappy citizens could rise and cause problems in the future. It was with the reluctant acceptance that Mithian came to acknowledge her father had done the best anyone could do in their situation.

Releasing a breath and gazing at the starry sky, Mithian enjoyed the sounds of night-life, crackling fire, and the gentle spring breeze making leaves lightly rustle.

"Thea."

Mithian, in response to her incognito name, turned to see Sir Richard sit beside her. "Yes, Uncle?" she replied, using the false title for her second most trusted but favourite knight.

"It's late, Thea. Leofric is on watch, and it will be time for my shift before long," Sir Richard commented, glancing in Sir Leofric's direction for a moment. The knight in question had turned their way for a moment before returning focus to the night. "I can't have my princess having bags under her beautiful eyes," he muttered with a cheeky smile and a glint in his eyes, he was the only one that got away with calling her 'princess'. She hated it when referred to by title outside the Nemeth Council Chambers, where it was utterly necessary. Mithian saw people for who they were, not their rank, and treated them by their merits.

Upon learning her dislike for titles long ago, Sir Richard had taken to calling her 'princess' just to rile her up. Over time she'd come to see it as a term of endearment from him, and the knight only used it when he was concerned for her or was serious about anything he said.

"Thank you, Uncle. I didn't realise time had passed so quickly," she replied smoothly, watching him raise his eyebrows in knowing.

The mischievous knight rolled his eyes. "What is it with you and your love for the night? Something is wrong with you, woman," Richard remarked, making her chuckle for they both knew about her leisurely strolls into the woods around the city that was their home.

"Good night, Uncle," she said in a friendly tone.

Richard just shook his head as he got up and left, muttering about crazy princesses just loud enough for her to hear him. Rising from the log herself, Mithian went over to the carriage that held the alleged goods the three of them were pretending to sell during their travel around the kingdom. Amongst those wares were their supplies for the entire journey. It was a very basic carriage easily described as a wheeled, wooden box with a single door at the back and a bench attached to the front of it.

Getting out her bedroll, she unfurled it and made herself comfortable on the ground instead of in the carriage as she was supposed to. Mithian enjoyed nature and would choose it when duty and propriety were not required. From the matter she carried herself and behaved around other high-ranking officials in Nemeth and kingdoms she'd visited for possible suitors, they would never have guessed this side of her.

An ordinary princess wouldn't find pleasure in what Mithian enjoyed, and Nemeth's future successor often went out to the woods on horseback so she could think in silence and had come to appreciate the peace that always welcomed her. Over the course of her visits to the forest, she developed a sense of inner peace or belonging or _something_. She didn't know the answer. She just knew that it felt right.

As she rested on the ground, the princess could see her prized necklace had slipped out from under the ugly shirt. It was a light blue topaz; a stone said to represent serenity, friendship, fidelity, integrity, intellect, and gentleness. She loved this necklace, and there was never a day she hadn't worn it since receiving it a few months ago. At the banquet on her birthday, her father presented it to her as a gift, naming it the "Jewel of Nemeth" and saying its qualities reminded him of her - the jewel of his life.

Smiling as she carefully tucked it back inside her shirt, Mithian thought about the man who'd raised her after her mother hadn't survived the birth. She couldn't imagine life without him, and her heart swelled with pride at the thought that he'd given this to her sometime after making her princess regent of Nemeth.

Putting her thoughts aside Mithian sighed and closed her eyes, letting sleep claim her in the outdoor setting of the countryside.

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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin.**

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

 _"Blah"_ Telepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

 _Blah_ Thoughts or emphasised words.

XXXXXXX New POV

 **A Broken Coin 1:**

Chapter 2

Waking with the pain of a concussion Morgana didn't know where she was, but the moment she opened her eyes, her mind filled with dread. She couldn't see. It felt cold, the air was stuffy and smelt foul, and not a sound apart from her breathing could be heard. The High Priestess knew what had happened before attempting to rise to her feet. However, she couldn't even do that much, for trying to stand caused pain in her wrists, along with the rattle of chains, and scraping of stone against her legs.

 _A cell._

The confirmation made her furious at all that'd occurred last night. In a moment of need during that ambush, a being of magic she'd believed to be a dragon she could trust had abandoned her, which resulted in her current circumstance. There wasn't a person she trusted these days and for a dragon to betray her was a step too far. She would make Aithusa suffer once she escaped this hell hole.

Returning her attention to herself and attempting to break free from the manacles using magic, Morgana was despaired to learn nothing had happened. She might as well be a powerless commoner here. Quickly burying her emotions, the high priestess forced herself to calm and think instead of attempting to obtain an immediate result. Closing her eyes so to spare them from straining in this darkness.

Morgana later awoke once more and assumed she must have fallen asleep despite the less than comfortable circumstances. She looked in the direction of rock scraping against rock above her. Light poured into her cell, and Morgana spotted the man she loathed more than Arthur standing there with a high and mighty expression.

"How many more must you imprison and kill before you're satisfied?"

She glared at Sarrum who only smirked from above, looking down at her like an ant he could crush at any moment. "Until there are none left," the warlord taunted, smiling victoriously. "Magic is a filthy stain on this world. But it will be clean of it soon enough."

Every moment in his presence made Morgana hate the man more intensely. The murderer of witches, warlocks, druids and sorcerers alike.

Upon learning more about his oppressive ways towards those with magic, she made it her duty to remove his from this plane and liberate her kin from the dangers of such men. Her brother was nothing in comparison to Sarrum. Arthur paled considerably to the man who handsomely rewarded his men for bringing sorcerers to him, and there was no limitation on where their origin. Be it from his territory or another kingdom, the warlord Sarrum didn't care, so long as he witnessed proof that they possessed magic.

"Is it any wonder that I want you dead? You who persecute my kind day after day, year after year!" The witch shouted in rage, her desire for his blood rising upon seeing him flippantly tossing and catching her healing bracelet. The first of two remaining possessions she'd received from her sister. The second one was a gift after the attempt of conquest on Camelot with the Knights of Medhir, a blade currently stored on the Isle of the Blessed.

"You will regret ever bringing me here, Sarrum!" she shouted confidently, for she believed escaping this cell was far from impossible.

The warlord pretended not to have heard her, but the smirk was present nonetheless. "And your brother's laws are helping me do it."

Her threat being ignored by Sarrum riled Morgana, and as she proceeded to plot her escape the witch made sure not to give herself and her newfound determination away.

As dignified as she could be in this situation while pretending to be at his mercy, Morgana planted the seed of curiosity that would lead to her successful escape. Her tone level and severe. "You wouldn't be so eager to ally with him if you knew the truth."

"And what would that be, Witch?" Sacrum asked, speaking the pronoun like something disgusting in his mouth.

Internally Morgana sneered as she snatched at an opportunity to bring liberty closer. "You'll have to torture me first," she denied him, seeing anger on the warlord's face, secretly smirking at the turning of tables in her favour.

"That can be arranged..." The warlord confirmed but shortly stepping out of sight. "...for another day."

It was evident he wasn't immediately going to fall for her plan, but eventually, the curiosity would erode his resolve. Infuriated that she was still in this reeking pit, the light disappearing as the lid once more buried her in darkness, Morgana kicked where she'd seen a loose looking piece of stone. It resulted in a muffled whimper, a tear of pain she couldn't wipe running down her cheek, and the smell of blood permeating the air.

The witch paid attention to where her immortal blade should have been and was enraged to discover that she dislodged her knife from its sheath and sent it flying in her moment of frustration.

Hate filled her. The determination to see to the deaths of oppressive kings and warlocks dominated her mind. Fury at Aithusa's betrayal. Loneliness at the loss of her sister.

And there they festered within the depths of the dark pit.

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Standing upon a rocky ledge that offered a clear view of the City of Camelot, a renegade druid was quiet as he watched the quiet activity buzzing outside the walls, where people are unknowingly milling around and going about their day. He resented the sight before him and what those people represented.

Witnessing the people live without fear angered Alvarr, making him clench his fists in determination to see the throne of Camelot topple and its unjust law along with it. He'd been denied the same privilege as those below for over twenty years. The renegade druid hardly remembered a day that didn't include the urge to look over his shoulder.

He'd been ten years old when his right to live as freely as those people down by the city was taken away wrongly. Down by the walls, there wasn't an ounce of magic in sight, and it hadn't always been like that. He remembered the days of freedom, happiness and little strife. There was none of that now, and Nimueh had made it no secret to the druids of what had happened between herself and Uther. As a child, he saw only a despicable king that didn't deserve to be on a throne, a selfish man with no interest in anything that didn't benefit him.

Alvarr grew up around the oppression and violence of Uther's reign, and in his anger towards the now-dead king had gotten him into many arguments with his fellow druids as they'd just hidden and done nothing to right the wrong against those with the gift of magic.

Eventually sick of the lack of action, Alvarr left the clan to their dismay and proceeded to seek like-minded druids and magic folk who wanted to make a difference. For the most part, however, they had yet to prevail in freeing people of magic from the cold laws of this land.

Since leaving the clan, Alvarr hadn't had much success against Uther's tyranny or his son's, Arthur, who wasn't much better. Half of Camelot's citizens still lived in fear of being who they were. As long as a Pendragon ruled this kingdom, he would work to make sure it was a short one.

"You won't know what hits you, Pendragon," Alvarr murmured to himself, watching the magicless people down by the wall of the castle work without any concern.

Turning his back on the city, the renegade made a silent vow to eliminate the world of the tyranny and dictators. No matter the cost, but first, he needed the last known High Priestess of the Old Religion. She would know King Arthur better than anyone, which included his weaknesses and all that the blonde king held dear.

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In the quiet coastal Camelot village of Nefeir, a warlock with more power than he knew was practising his sword craft with a fellow villager, Benjamin, when the man wanted a rest. As his sparring partner grabbed a drink from the well, Gilli could have sworn he spotted one of the stronger bandits he'd fought in the past spying on the village before shaking their head and going back the way they'd come. Nefeir had a history of being victim to bandit attacks when left unprotected by the king and Gilli always kept a watchful eye no matter what.

Like now, Nefeir had been garrisoned with soldiers once before and experienced peace and safety, but at one point the garrison was removed in preparation for a war that never truly starting. During that time the nearby bandits exploited the situation and raided the village several times until the village elder sent a woman on horseback to plead their case to the king. In response, the garrison returned.

Every morning since the first raid the men of Nefeir took it upon themselves to train in preparation for attacks occurring again. The presence of soldiers protected the village, but they'd learnt the hard way not to take peace for granted. It had been many months since the last bandit raid, and those who kept their skills sharp had dwindled down to Gilli and Benjamin while the rest relaxed their precaution, favouring the fields over Gilli and Benjamin's 'paranoid' training.

While waiting for Benjamin to finish freshening up, Gilli turned his attention to the garrison and saw no one had spotted the bandit spy, taking their appointment here as a holiday instead of duty to the people. Looking over Benjamin's shoulder once the man was in a neutral stance, the warlock could see soldiers watching them in amusement when the sorcerer raised his sword to mimic Benjamin. Not about to be discouraged from training, he ignored them and resumed practice off to the side of the village.

Unlike the usual moderate intensity, Gilli gave it his all and surprised Benjamin in the process who was quick to adjust and meet him blow for blow.

He knew this peace wouldn't last forever. One way or another Nefeir would be left exposed to bandits once again, and the village will suffer for it. Bandits had watched them like a hawk since the appointment of soldiers and the moment they moved again; the savages would be upon them once more to pillage all.

Despite the level at which Gilli was putting his spar partner through, he could tell the man was distracted, and it didn't take much for him to figure it out. "Don't let it bother you, Ben," Gilli encouraged between his strikes and blocks.

"I have a family I care about, but having those relaxed soldiers laugh and snigger doesn't make it easy," Benjamin replied, earning himself impact from Gilli's sword for watching the soldiers too long.

Gilli nodded in agreement but remained focussed on the task at hand. "Keep your eyes on the target," he murmured before spotting movement within the trees and receiving a blow from Benjamin.

"You were saying?"

Not in the mood for humour, Gilli pretended to talk to Benjamin while watching the treeline out of the corner of his eye. "They're becoming desperate…"

Benjamin was a little confused, lowering his sword. "What?"

"The bandits," he went on, adjusting his grip and becoming more aggressive. "They must be struggling from a lack of supplies," the warlock muttered as he sidestepped Benjamin's strike.

A look of realisation passed over the man's face before glancing in the direction Gilli had looked earlier. "This close? And the soldiers aren't spotting them?"

Darting out of Benjamin's way and rotating so he was facing the village, he wasn't surprised by their negligent behaviour. "Apparently not, Ben."

"Fantastic."

"Isn't it just?"

"They might as well not be here."

"Agreed."

An hour of sparring later both men were well-worn from the exercise, Gilli sheathed his sword and joined the others in the fields. Upon joining them, he experienced a few looks of ridicule but ignored them as he grabbed a hoe and got to work, whispering an incantation or two when no one was looking. They needed every grain they could grow.

Tilling the fields with the others and seeing one woman glance at her work and his, giving him a small but knowing smile, he knew she knew that he might have cheated with a little magic. However as fast as the smile came, it was gone. Magic was not safe here, and no matter what his scenario was, Gilli lived with a shroud of secrecy and fear.

Nefeir was an outlying village of Camelot and with that fact came its laws. But the laws may or may not have been _forgotten_ in the absence of the soldiers. There hadn't been much choice for Gilli in the matter considering it was overwhelming with bandits continually trying to raid the village.

After saving a few lives during the multiple fights his gifts were welcome, but upon the return of a garrison, Gilli had to refrain from using his gifts blatantly or risk being seen by a soldier and dragged to Camelot to burn on a stake. His fellow villagers kept his secret, but with the return of a garrison, he was no longer safe in his home. While tilling the fields, the warlock discreetly looked around as he worked and released a breath when it was evident no soldier had been watching him.

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Atop the windy mountain range north of the Labyrinth of Gedref, Aithusa watched as her dragonlord rode away on horseback towards the labyrinth in the disguise of a mere manservant in the company of King Arthur and four knights. Merlin hadn't been what she exactly expected of a dragonlord, but the same thing would apply to Aithusa for she didn't see things the same way as her mentor and remaining kin.

The previous night's encounter within the woods had been exciting, to say the least; no matter how uninterested she'd acted. Upon meeting her dragonlord, Aithusa pulled forth within his mind his greatest regret and watched as he looked pained at the reminder of what he'd done.

Her dragonlord was an enigma of a being, for he used to hold an earnest desire of freeing his kind from the oppression of Camelot's law, but his aim had shifted to protecting the very man in charge of that same law. As she'd watched the memories replay within his mind, Aithusa witnessed the changes of character and loss of hope within him increase the older he was in each memory.

Ruffling her wings and resettling, she watched the party of six men ride on before focussing her attention on Merlin amongst them, seeking the energy of his magic.

And it felt very wrong to her.

The magic within him felt so subdued, trapped and resigned to a cemented fate that it was depressing even from this distance. Aithusa knew at that moment she needed to do something so he'd have hope again. He was Emrys, and for the magic incarnate to be reduced to such a state went against everything that natural magic was.

She didn't choose to help _because_ he was Emrys or even her dragonlord. If he'd been an average sorcerer, she would have decided to help him without hesitation. Aithusa believed magic and those with magic deserved to be free. Not with a sad sense of hopelessness; like Merlin was right now.

Determined to change that, Aithusa was about to take flight and follow the humans at a distance when she sensed the magical presence of a fellow dragon. Turning towards the direction of the White Mountains, she sighted Kilgharrah flying from afar.

 _"Kilgharrah,"_ she acknowledged, awaiting a typically cryptic response.

To her surprise, he got straight to the point. _"It would not be wise to interfere, hatchling. Emrys must find the path of success on his own."_

Straightening up out of interest, Aithusa cocked her head to the side. _"I already have,"_ she informed the bronze elder dragon. _"I have reminded him of what he has left behind, although he may not know it."_

The elder said nothing, a hint of thoughtfulness coming across their telepathic link. With no intent of wasting time, Aithusa went on. _"Emrys plays a significant role in the future for magic, but that doesn't mean he's the only one to do something about those tyrannical laws. Even if it means, I am to give him subtle pushes in the right direction."_

 _"The future is in a fragile state, Aithusa, and not to be taken lightly. Every moment affects a thousand after it. Interfere too frequently and the fate of magic may go down a path that you cannot alter,"_ warned the thousand-year-old elder. Kilgharrah sounded as though he believed the situation should be left alone, but she didn't agree with the sentiment.

 _"The fate of magic will be miserable if I don't help it. As it is at this point magic will never be free, because Merlin has lost all hope. I can feel it in the bond. Surely you can, too?"_ Aithusa argued, watching Kilgharrah carefully as he didn't seem too receptive of her view.

The elder dragon's speck in the sky grew slightly, apparently becoming concerned about what she might do in her determination to help magic prevail. _"Opinion is not the matter at hand, Aithusa. Should Arthur Pendragon learn that I, let alone yourself, live on it could significantly hinder the Young Warlock's destiny,"_ Kilgharrah disputed in a solemn tone.

Irritably, the white dragon shook her head and fought the temptation to fly over there to knock some sense into the relic of a mentor. _"Obviously things are not working, and I don't intend to stay grounded and do nothing. Life is about living, not survival,"_ she countered hotly, feeling the tension in her body as she desired to fly.

 _"I will say one last thing before I part, Hatchling. Hurried efforts will not be worth the outcome,"_ he warned before flying away, according to the telepathic link between them.

From her position on the mountain range, the young dragon watched as the bronze speck of Kilgharrah flew beyond sight before she turned her attention to the patrol party below. From the connection between dragon and dragonlord, Aithusa once again felt the hopeless and resigned mentality of Merlin, something that needed addressing as soon as possible.

The white dragon took flight and went as high as she could manage; gliding on the wind currents with no humans the wiser of her presence. Her colour and small size would mislead a being into believing she was a little bird, which granted her safety to follow Merlin and witness anything that happened around him. She didn't believe in prophecy as firmly as her mentor, but that didn't mean she was about to ignore everything related to the Once and Future King Prophecy.

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Picking up the last empty bowl and washing it within the bucket of water, Princess Mithian stopped for a moment and looked around as the villagers went about their daily duties. Some were tilling the fields while others, typically the mothers, took care of the little ones as they went about cleaning the cottages and clothing. Smiling at the peace displayed in this village, she went back to washing the last bowl before disposing of the waste water.

Going over to the carriage under the midday sun, the princess put the dishes away before tying a knot in place to keep the single door open. Seating herself within the shade of the carriage, Mithian looked out to the fields where some of the younger men had shown mild interest in her preparation to depart.

"Thea, are you ready?" Sir Richard called from the bench where he sat with Sir Leofric.

"Yes, Uncle."

Watching as they pulled away from the village, she couldn't help but chuckle at the scolding of the young farmers in the fields when they'd been caught staring at her by their fathers. Apart from the knights posing as merchants, not a soul in this village was aware Princess Mithian was present, and the scene in the fields she witnessed both humoured and saddened her. Taking a wooden carving out of her pants pocket, Mithian turned it over to look at all the details and apparent effort before gently putting it with her spare clothes. Watching as the village slowly became smaller as her thoughts became reflective of the past two weeks.

She didn't let herself think too deeply about it and mentally scolding herself with a shake of her head for nearly getting upset about something that would never change. Looking away and focussing on the task at hand she reached over to her leather bound book, opening it to reveal her notes of the journey so far. Although not intending to add her knowledge of the village they'd just left until later, the princess discovered a pattern that didn't come as a surprise to her. The further north a community was positioned within Nemeth's borders the more cautious they lived in regards to magic.

She'd seen a few subtle acts of magic while visiting the remote southern villages, but the further north the carriage travelled the less she witnessed. There was a minor exception, though, they'd begun the journey with the villages near Nemeth's north-eastern border with Essetir, and there'd been an equal amount of magic done as the remote southern communities. Nemeth's northwestern border shared with Camelot, a kingdom where magic almost always resulted in death for the sorcerer, so it made sense of which villages were wary of being seen performing magic.

Anyone could have made the assumption themselves, but seeing the proof with her own eyes while assessing the happiness of her citizens served to make the issue feel real to Princess Mithian.

Complete with her observation for the day, Mithian rested her back against the inside wall and looked out to the countryside. The breeze was pleasant as it brushed against her face and she closed her eyes in content before her chestnut-brown hue eyes drifted to the village, now a speck in the distance.

It seemed no matter who she encountered as Princess Mithian; there wasn't a heart out there that would give hers a genuine chance. Be it a desire only for the throne and her wealth as King Odin had pursued her, another heart standing between her and King Arthur, or a commoner believing it wouldn't be right to pursue love with the future Queen. During this journey as Thea, the people she met each time interacted with her without any formality. And of the men that'd spoken to her, some those around her age had shown more than a little interest in 'Thea', one had gone as far as carving her a wooden bird, which now rested amongst her possessions.

However, Mithian was not a fool and knew nothing would become of it all.

Becoming quiet and thoughtful, she picked at the hem of her white shirt as the carriage travelled towards the next village, but soon she experienced a familiar twinge in her hip and knew what she needed to do.

Alone and sitting in the open end of the carriage Mithian looked to the sky and watched as the clouds rolled past. Grabbing a stuffed bag and pulling it behind her, she turned herself to face out of the carriage entirely before making herself comfortable.

After a moment of crossing her legs and hands on her thighs, Mithian listened to each breath and settled her gaze softly on her surroundings for a few minutes. Leaning back against the bag behind her, the future queen looked to the sky and with each out the breath, she released all thoughts, feelings and tensions until her mind was peaceful and she obtained full awareness of herself.

Doing this for some time and continuing to let go of each new thought as she exhaled, Mithian maintained her focus on the sky and felt the pain in her right hip began to fade.

She'd first been taught this form of meditation by her lecturer upon the man catching her clutching her hip and biting her lip on more than one occasion. Earlier in life, she rarely experienced the pain in response to negative emotions, and only feel it when they were intense, however, as she got older preventing the build-up of stinging tension became steadily harder to control.

An extensive amount of time later her sky gazing was interrupted by the sight of a horseman off to the side. Paying more attention to the rider, Mithian spotted many knights scattered in a semicircle fashion behind him. Focussing on the rider's horse, she noticed it had the same markings as her father's.

Feeling the carriage slow and coming to a halt Mithian felt surprised to see that her father, King Rodor Duranhelm of Nemeth, had come all the way out to the outlying lands of the kingdom. Concern and confusion washed over her at the sight of her father dismounting without an ounce of urgency.

 _Why has he come all this way when there is no emergency?_

Straightening herself up and sliding out of the carriage, Mithian subtly rested a hand within a pocket of her pants where a knife rested ready should she need it. Going over and becoming a little more trusting as she recognised the knights riding up from behind her father.

"Father…" she commented in a tapering manner. "Is everything alright? Sir Leofric, Sir Richard, and I have had no troubles."

"Everything is well, dear," he assured her, "It was simply a matter of personal motivation. I wished to see for myself if you fared well, and in turn found myself desiring to see your face again."

Mithian found herself frowning slightly, for her father wasn't one to act on a whim. "There's something you're not telling me. You know I rarely fall ill. We even had a...minor disagreement about allowing me to learn how to defend myself with a bow." reasoned the princess as she witnessed her father signal the knights away. "What's really on your mind, Father?"

There was a brief smile of pride before he became solemn once more. Slightly confused with his less than forward behaviour, Mithian didn't resist as he guided her away from the general direction of the knights before he proceeded to speak in a cautious tone. "Is it wrong to see your daughter?" he asked with a small fond smile. "The court received news of rebels raiding a village not too far south from here. I knew you were due in this area and wished to see how you are."

Walking alongside her father, Mithian looked from the horizon to her father and saw him looking down and thumbing her cheek, bringing them to a stop. With the same hand, he lifted her necklace until the blue topaz rested against her shirt. Turning her gaze to the gemstone held in place by silver, Mithian smiled at the reminder of her last birthday and felt her father raise her chin after a moment.

"There's the smile I miss," he commented, bringing her into a hug and resting his chin atop the crown of her head. Releasing his hold, her father stepped back with a flicker of concern she didn't get the chance to comment on. "You rarely smile these days, my jewel."

A wave of guilt washed over Mithian, and she looked down, for she knew why she concealed most if not all emotion during the last few months.

"What ails you, my dear?" asked her father, setting her onto a log before sitting down himself. "Mithian, you can always tell me."

Feeling torn about what to do, the princess looked to her king with a pleading expression. "I don't know, Father. I don't know what it is, but I have to control my emotions."

Her king was quiet for a moment, almost contemplative before bringing an arm around her. "Why do you say that, my daughter?"

She felt the fear of the unknown and was apprehensive at the idea of dragging her father into this mess, for he already had enough that deemed concern. They only had each other. No brothers or sisters and her mother had died a few days after childbirth. Mithian knew of a cousin from her mother's side currently ruling Anglia, who'd never visited Nemeth or seemed to consider them family. Not only that but a cousin on her father's side sought to rule and with her father not exactly young; she knew they'd try to claim Nemeth if she didn't establish herself in Nemeth quickly.

If family matters weren't enough for one to consider a handful, then there was more.

Word of opposition towards her becoming the new sovereign was a known rumour within the court, but who instigated it was unclear. The neighbouring kingdoms were aware her father was getting on in his age and tested the borders on a regular basis until he threatened them with war. After such a threat they would back off for a few months, and the cycle was bound to repeat.

Another usual hassle was King Odin's persistent request to her father for Mithian's hand in marriage. However, they both knew it would be a miserable one, and Odin's interest was in Nemeth's land and gold. Royal marriages were a means to improve a king or lord's stance. However, her father wished for her to be happy above all else.

He knew too well what it was like to live without a partner, and she'd seen what it had done to him.

During her adolescent years, Mithian experienced a period where she wondered whether her father loved her for her or the resemblance to her mother. When he'd been especially busy, she'd gone on a trip to the nearby woods to a druid clan where she requested their help. After seeing her desperation for an answer, a witch within the clan obliged her, and upon providing some blood of herself and her father a fortnight later, she finally had her answer.

She'd never felt so awful for doubting his care for her, and thankful to this day he'd never found out.

Staring at her father with determination to minimise his trouble, she kept it a secret. "To be a strong successor, Father."

He must have seen through it, for he looked at her sadly before gently squeezing her hand. It tore at her from the inside to see him like that.

"Wait," she spoke in a hurried manner as she rose from the log, her father soon on his feet beside her before she held his hand in her own. "I just don't want to worry you, Father. You don't deserve that." After being brought into a hug, Mithian met her father's concerned gaze. "The truth is I don't know what it is. All I know about this problem is that by reining emotions it stops the pain, but as I age I need to increase the control for the same result."

Her father was alarmed at the news. "It sounds like a curse…Have you spoken to the court physician or a healer about this?"

"Neither, Father," she replied, which seemed to calm him slightly at the probable thought either profession might have the answer. "We know little about magic, but I don't think this is a curse. It seems too mild of a choice if someone wanted to harm me. Who knows, but I don't believe that it's one."

Walking back towards the carriage alongside her father who was looking thoughtful, Mithian was quiet as she witnessed several emotions flitting across his face. Upon reaching the end of the carriage and finding they were relatively alone, she leant lightly against the still-open end of the carriage. "It would be best to return to the city so we can investigate this pain you're experiencing, Mithian. Not all magic is fast-acting."

Knowing how close she was to finishing her travels around the kingdom as Thea, Mithian proposed a compromise. "I've almost completed the reconnaissance of the villages, should the pain increase I'll return to Nemeth immediately."

Her father nodded to the counterproposal for he knew she had his task-driven personality and was determined to complete the mission given to her. "Just be careful, my jewel," her father commented, an expression of concern and worry.

Walking up to Father, Mithian embraced him in a brief hug to reassure him that all would be alright. "I promise."

Within a few minutes, father and daughter were with their assigned parties watching one another ride away. When King Rodor was out of sight, Mithian maintained the gaze to the east where their city was a few days' ride away. Quietly sitting in the back of the carriage as it went north the princess unfurled a map and proceeded to recall what she remembered about Nemeth's affairs with each of its neighbours.

Occasionally stealing a glance in Father's direction while evaluating Nemeth's position in the grand scheme of things, Mithian prepared herself for her eventual return to the city where she would continue acting as princess regent once more.

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Waiting on a log as Merlin was kneeling next to a pot of stew for the evening meal, Arthur thought about Guinevere and wondered how she was faring in Camelot in his stead. She was a dedicated woman who always thought about the people in every scenario thrown at her so far. Before taking off to do this patrol Arthur had helped and witnessed her development in the role of a queen, but Guinevere still had a way to go with the more administrative and defence duties. In time he believed she would become a queen to be reckoned with.

With his mind still on his wife, Arthur's eyes wandered vacantly, happening upon Merlin as Gwaine knelt beside the manservant and speaking to him briefly before leaving. Arthur knew Gwaine was the most talkative of the knights, for he'd been subject to his constant chatter on more than one occasion, so hardly thought anything of Gwaine's muttering now.

Rising from his seat Arthur went over to Percival and Elyan where the two men were sparring. Or so he'd thought before seeing Elyan's sword fall from his grip. "If I didn't know any better I'd say you're drunks, but I know we don't have any ale," he commented, waiting for the answer to their antics and seeing their eyes dart to Gwaine, who was frowning as he was gathering wood.

Turning in Gwaine's direction, he raised his eyebrow in the absence of a remark from Gwaine, before looking back at the other two and witnessing them attempting to mimic Gwaine's signature move. Seeing Elyan drop the sword once more, Arthur joined his knights in the bid to unravel how Gwaine successfully disarms an opponent in the middle of a skirmish.

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Continuing to collect wood for the campfire, Gwaine walked on looking for dry branches that would last a while. A fair distance from the camp now the knight finally let out a sigh and peered back in the direction from which he'd come. Adjusting his hold on the collection so far, he walked on while his mind wavered between two scenarios and a feeling of guilt.

The first featured Merlin remaining as Arthur's manservant and living in fear of discovery until the day he died. The second was the warlock listening to his suggestion of exploring and finding a place where fear and magic weren't synonymous.

Gwaine was aware he'd been more than a little suggestive over the past two days and regretted that he was pressuring Merlin into this. However, the man had more or less given up on enjoying life and needed a good push from a trusted friend. It was truly no contest who's best interests he cared about, and Merlin was the man who held his loyalty.

He'd be damned if Merlin only knew existence without Gwaine trying to help Merlin first. Unsure how he would manage it against a warlock, the knight was willing to drag Merlin kicking and screaming from Camelot and to a place where he could truly live. Or try and end up embarrassing himself in the process at least.

With his arms now full of firewood and his determination renewed, he returned to the camp and saw the sight he expected. Seated around the campfire were Gwaine's brothers in arms and king, awaiting to receive their evening meal. Looking over at the dwindling pile of wood, Gwaine dropped his lot on top and joined the others before receiving dinner from Merlin, who was kneeling by the stew pot.

There was that brief moment of eye contact with Merlin where Gwaine saw the look of guilty temptation he'd been hoping to instigate for many patrols now.

Hiding his satisfaction from his friend or risk Merlin seeing it and withdrawing from any thoughts about Gwaine's proposition, Gwaine acted as though he'd seen nothing and proceeded to eat while plotting what he'd do upon their return to Camelot.

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	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin**

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

 _"Blah" T_ elepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

 _Blah_ Thoughts/Emphasised words

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 **A Broken Coin 1:**

Chapter 3

Seven days later Merlin found himself in Camelot and returning from the patrol with Arthur and the knights. Surrounded by the buzz of stableboys relieving the patrol's horses of their saddles, while servants helped the Knights out of the hot armour. It appeared there were one too many servants amongst them, resulting in someone else helping the prat instead of Merlin. Looking around for something to do or risk getting a mountain of work from Arthur, his attention was drawn by a nudge on the shoulder by Gwaine. Nodding to the good friend in response, for he understood the silent message, Merlin grabbed his bag and made a hasty retreat into the citadel to unpack in his chambers.

Once inside the privacy of his chambers, Merlin couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with guilt about deciding to go on Gwaine's little expedition. He felt as though he was betraying someone or something, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what. The prophecy perhaps, considering it had increasingly ruled his decisions, and now he was making one that Kilgharrah and other prophecy-minded magical beings would dispute.

It was his duty as Emrys to protect Arthur from the likes of vengeful sorcerers and dangerous creatures. And although the Knights of the Round Table were highly skilled in their craft, they were practically defenceless against magic, proved many times from their experiences. The birth of Albion depended on Arthur bringing together the kingdoms to end the conflict, and if he were to die, there wouldn't be peace in Britannia for an unforetold time.

So he couldn't be blamed for feeling wary about going on this strange trip with Gwaine, for he was risking the future of Camelot and that went against his purpose as Arthur's protector. A goal that Gwaine argued was meaningless if the man had no intention to allow freedom for magic, actively or passively.

With his mind going over all of this, Merlin prepared what he needed for the journey with Gwaine, a load that was considerably less since he would be able to do much with magic instead. After packing the last shirt, he made his way down to the stables where Gwaine had told him to meet when he was ready. Upon arriving Merlin found the care-free knight there holding the reins of two fresh horses as a stable boy was finished saddling them up.

"Here," encouraged Gwaine, handing him the reins of the black horse, and smiling when he took it. "I've talked to Gaius, and the old man needs new herbs, so that's our cover if the Princess gets nosy," the knight explained in a relaxed manner while leading the way out of the stables, before mounting his chestnut. "We just have to make sure we _do_ get them, or Gaius will have our hides," he finished from the saddle, a humoured smirk that that became a brief grimace before it disappeared altogether.

Now aware he needed a few extra things Merlin returned to the citadel and made his way back to his chambers with a quick gait. Turn off from the main hallway, he passed his fellow servants and nodded to them when they didn't look flustered. Going about his way and not intending to keep Gwaine waiting for too long, Merlin sidestepped Gwen and continued when he nearly collided with her.

"Merlin, wait," called the queen, sounding a little guilty as she approached, before walking alongside him. "I want to apologise for the way I've behaved these last few months."

Furrowing his eyebrows at Gwen for a moment, Merlin shook his head in disagreement. "It's fine, Gwen. We've all been busy. It's no big deal," he said dismissively while his mind was still on the topic of Gwaine's little trip.

However, the queen wasn't letting him forgive her wrongdoings so quickly. "That's where you're wrong, Merlin," she replied once they had the privacy of his chambers, her expression was one of regret. "I've treated you terribly since the victory against Morgana. So much has happened since then, but that is no excuse for me ignoring you the way I did."

With the queen in the middle of his chambers as he gathered his jars and knife for herb harvesting, Merlin acknowledged how disheartening it was seeing Gwen and Arthur act as though they'd forgotten that he was their friend. Not about to make a big drama about his friends being busy, the warlock turned to Gwen once the empty jars were safely on his bed.

"Gwen, it's nothing," he countered politely and a slight frown appeared on her face at the dismissal.

Sighing, the kind friend dropped the topic and began a new one. "If you say so, Merlin. But why are you packing? You just returned from patrol," she commented and went over to the window. "Gwaine?" the woman muttered, evidently seeing the man standing outside the stables with two horses. "I thought the jars were for Gaius's herbs," she prodded, coming cover and sitting on the bed next to the jars he packed in a satchel for protection. "Merlin, is something wrong? You've been quiet and withdrawn since you returned from the patrol. Perhaps I can help?" Gwen offered, apparently trying to redeem herself for the past few months.

Turning and facing her, Merlin sat himself down next to her. "I don't think you can help me with this one, Gwen," he confessed, feeling guilty about the deception of keeping magic a secret. "I appreciate the gesture, really, but I don't think you can."

She had a small frown for just a moment, but Merlin knew in his heart that now was not the right time to tell her about his magic, or if he ever would. After the death of Uther, at the hands of magic, what he could do now for Albion was ensure Arthur's safety so he could become the Once and Future King and bring peace to the land.

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Feeling a little disappointed that she couldn't help him, Gwen stood up from the bed and watched as he rose looking downcast about something she didn't know about and apparently unable to help.

"Take care, Merlin," she wished, giving him a light hug before handing him the satchel containing many glass jars. "I hope this journey helps you find what you're looking for."

Instead of the satisfied smile, she'd anticipated, Gwen saw him looking troubled by her words before swiftly hiding the expression behind one of content, which she'd been seeing for many years. Within moments she realised this was no simple task and the queen caught herself from speaking before she could make things worse by pressuring Merlin. However, this didn't stop speculation from flooding her mind at the idea that Merlin was hiding a problem and had done it for a long time.

 _How could I have missed this?_

Realising he was looking at her with a strange expression, Gwen pulled herself out of her thoughts and gave an apologetic smile before following the manservant out of his chambers.

The pair saw many servants going about their daily duties within the halls, as well as hearing Arthur distantly calling for Merlin's help. The friend and manservant were about to divert towards the royal chambers when she stopped him in his tracks.

"You know as well as I that Arthur will keep you busy until after sundown," she pointed out, before abruptly calling out to George, who'd just turned the corner empty-handed. "Merlin," Gwen spoke, starting the conversation again. "I know something is bothering you, and if this journey helps then, I think Arthur can live without you for a while."

"Yes, Queen Guinevere?" replied the fellow servant when he reached them. "What do you need me to do for you today?" enquired George, looking eager to please her.

" _Bootlicker…_ " Merlin muttered under his breath, standing beside her and almost making her laugh.

Restraining herself from letting her amusement slip about the situation she was creating, the queen kept a straight face before speaking once more. "Until Merlin returns, you will be Arthur's manservant. He currently needs some help out of his armour, I believe," she directed, biting her tongue at the sight of George's pride swell with the knowledge he was to serve the king. It was one of the things her husband loathed to no end.

As soon as Gwen indicated that that was all, George didn't waste a moment and made for the royal chambers located on the other side of the citadel. Resuming their walk, Gwen heard the sound of snickering coming from Merlin, for he knew as well as she, if not more, how much Arthur disliked George's overbearing determination to please his master. Feeling some sympathy for what she was about to put her husband through, but aware of the antics that'd ensue, she smiled when they resumed walking the halls.

"It won't take Arthur much to work out I'm leaving Camelot for a while," Merlin commented when he picked up their pace.

She chuckled, smiling at the humoured gleam in Merlin's eyes. "I imagine so, Merlin. You better get going before he catches wind of this."

"Oh he won't just stop me," he remarked in mischief, looking to her as they kept going. "He'll do whatever it takes to avoid having George." And with that in mind, she made sure they went a little faster to ensure Merlin would make it outside of the city walls. Looking out the windows to see how much further they needed to go, Gwen let out a sigh of relief at the sight of Gwaine standing in the square organised and waiting for Merlin.

A moment later they passed through the main doors and reached the square, where Gwaine was waiting in his saddle and holding the reins of the other horse. "I heard Arthur shouting for you, Merlin. What's happened?" he asked curiously.

"Nothing," Merlin replied, seeming a little solemn as though suddenly remembering something.

Not wanting Merlin's chance of solving his problem to disappear, Gwen gave the pair a little push on the matter. "You better hurry you two. I made George Arthur's manservant until you come back from...whatever it is you'll be doing," she finished, honestly not sure what they could be planning to do.

"Merlin," Gwen addressed when Merlin took the reins from Gwaine. Once Merlin had turned back, Gwen continued. "Good luck, and keep safe," she wished him, not knowing what else to say until a thought came to her at the sound of Arthur's voice getting louder and closer. "Merlin, I may not be able to help you, but take your time... It's the least I can do."

The care-free knight butted in while Merlin was mounting his horse. "You have nothing to worry about Gwen; I'll look after him," Gwaine promised from where he sat in the saddle, holding the reins of his horse and raring to go.

The three of them could hear Arthur's voice from the citadel. It was with quick waves of farewell that the knight and manservant were finally riding across the drawbridge, towards Lower town and making for the outer gatehouses.

 _Good luck, Merlin._

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Now out of the city and leading the way, Gwaine looked to Merlin and raised his eyebrow at the warlock who was quietly riding beside him. "Ok, what was all that about?" he asked, wondering what had happened while he'd been waiting at the stable. "Gwen practically ordered you not to come back until you finished." It was a strange order to receive, and he didn't know what Gwen knew or if she just figured out that something was wrong.

"This way," Merlin directed quietly, guiding his horse towards the trees, and Gwaine followed him into the woods until he spotted the white dragon he'd seen during a patrol. Copying Merlin's example by dismounting and tying his horse to a sturdy trunk, Gwaine was half a step behind the warlock and dragonlord.

"Gwen wanted to talk when I'd gone back inside. For the last six months you know that she's almost ignored me, and now she's trying to make up for it," Merlin finally explained, approaching Aithusa who was slumbering a little further ahead. "I think she believes that something's wrong but knows nothing of the details. I haven't said anything that would give her ideas."

 _It's good to know we won't have to rush._ Gwaine thought as he leant against a trunk once they were close to Aithusa. _That way Merlin can experience what it is like for magic to be accepted._

Looking at the resting dragon, Gwaine frowned when he remembered the reason they were meeting her here. At Merlin's insistence towards the end of the patrol, they'd discussed how to protect Arthur while they were gone. It reminded Gwaine of Merlin's fixation about Arthur's safety. Admittedly there was a good reason for it. However, it won't help in convincing Merlin that being chained to a king who didn't tolerate magic was something he deserved.

Rising to her feet once as they neared, Aithusa closed the gap between them and broke the silence. "Kilgharrah would roast you alive if he knew you were doing this. But I think it's the right thing, Merlin," she commented, nodding to the pair of them. He was growing to like her more each time they met and knew they'd made the right choice. There'd been a few different ideas, but in the end, the protection that Aithusa could offer seemed to be the best option they had.

Smiling at the rebellious hatchling, he leant against a trunk and raised an eyebrow. "Is that because Kilgharrah wouldn't be happy or some other reason?" Gwaine asked, trying to get a good gauge of the dragon's personality. "He's a bit of a riddled relic in my opinion," he remarked, making the hatchling chuckle humouredly.

"I do think my decisions through if that's what you're alluding to Gwaine," countered the spirited hatchling. "I've spoken to Iseldir, and a member of his clan volunteered to help. You wouldn't know he was a druid unless you were staring him in the face," she finished before turning to Merlin. "Your oblivious king will be safe until you return. There'll be no reason to concern yourself with his welfare."

He could tell Merlin was a little worried about Arthur, which was evident in his voice. "If you see Morgana-"

"I'll get Kilgharrrah's help; I know Merlin," she butted in. "It's not solely about Arthur's life; your's matters too, you know," the white dragon reminded him, taking a step closer and staring him in the eyes.

"I know-" he began to reply before the dragon cut in again.

"Then listen to your brain and go with Gwaine," Aithusa said before Merlin turned away grumpily and headed back towards the horses.

She was about to take flight when he called out. "Wait," the knight shot, wanting confirmation of his suspicion. The dragon faltered and folded her wings before giving him her full attention. "You have something to do with this, don't you?" he enquired carefully, trying not to sound rude and make her take off. "I've been trying to persuade him to see magic-tolerant places, and the one patrol that I see you, Merlin finally decides to go," he continued, raising an eyebrow for a moment before giving a dismissive wave. "Look, if you did, then thanks, Aithusa."

The dragon only shook her head with a brief "No". However Gwaine wasn't convinced that she had nothing to do with it, but let it go before turning around and leaving to meet Merlin back at the horses.

It didn't take him long to reach the warlock, and within a minute of wetting his whistle, Gwaine was leading the way south-east of Camelot. He was looking forward to showing Merlin what he'd been missing out on, and Merlin had Gwen's approval to take as long as he needed.

With everything going well and hopes to grow within him, the knight picked up the pace as they travelled under the high noon sun. Gwaine had no intention of wasting time and wanted his best mate to live life instead of surviving fears. Looking to the warlock beside him, he felt concerned for Merlin and hoped that the man hadn't lost all regard for his life. He'd seen troubled people before Arthur knighted him, and should Merlin continue down his current path Gwaine wondered just what would happen to his friend.

Focussing on the task at hand, he led the way as they rode under the afternoon sun.

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Today had been one exciting day for Gilli, and in a village like Nefeir that was saying something. What now felt like an age this morning had started like any other and seemed no different from yesterday until he'd been working in the fields for an hour. One soldier since the beginning had paid more attention to the happenings of the village than the rest, which resulted in Gilli becoming tense with worry. At one point the eyes of that soldier drifted over to him, and he'd done everything within his power not to look back and give himself away to the man. Hoping that all would be alright.

However hours later that'd been all for nought, for he was now leagues away from Nefeir and felt utterly exhausted from spending the entire day fleeing his village. Within the cover of the trees, he witnessed the sun hovering just above the horizon, letting out a sigh of relief that he'd finally lost the soldier who'd figured out his secret. Considering how much time he'd spent with Ben, Gilli knew there was nothing he could do about it now, but felt guilty nonetheless.

 _I hope I didn't paint a target on Ben's back._

The broad-shouldered brunette slid down against a trunk to the ground and rested his head on his knees in the hope of recovering a bit. However, that too was proving pointless when he heard the sound of a flying arrow. On the run again, he dashed through the trees as quietly as he could, but he failed to shake off his pursuer.

 _How did he find me?!_

Without another thought about his pursuer, he raced deeper into the woods moving from shadow to shadow as it was getting darker. Beginning to run out of breath again the warlock ducked behind a shrub and hid, not having to wait long until his chaser passed by.

Not daring to move a muscle, he stiffened at the sight of the man coming back his way, making noise as he strode on the floor of twigs and leaves in the darkness.

Gilli gave it a few seconds before he started shadowing the man out of the woods, for he didn't know where he was and needed food soon.

As the trees were beginning to thin out, wariness set in within Gilli, because he didn't know what the soldier is hunting him had planned, but he needed to feed himself before his stomach proceeded to give him away later.

The following continued until he heard another arrow whizzing through the air. Clueless of where it was coming from Gilli dove to the ground, which produced the crunching of breaking twigs, soon followed by the thunk of another arrow that could have pierced his back.

Seeing the arrow shake as it embedded itself in the tree, dread filled Gilli as he knew there was more than one man here. Panicked, the warlock raced off in a different direction from the people in front and behind him.

Running through the trees blindly and bracing his magic for a fight, he heard the sound of two sets of feet following him. To his alarm, they were closing in on him as his legs were failing him, for he'd been fleeing from danger since that morning. Aware there was no point in running anymore, Gilli hid behind a tree, intending to knock the pair of them out with magic.

Tensing up and waiting for the two to appear, Gilli was taken off guard when they didn't immediately show.

Keeping his breathing quiet, he listened for anything. "This is just weird. Why stalk us and flee? That's no mercenary," a familiar voice muttered not far away.

"Hush," a second voice he recognised whispered.

Focussing his magic just in case, Gilli slowly peered around the large trunk but failed to see any details due to a lack of light. " _Léohte_ ," the exhausted warlock muttered, producing a ball of light beside the pair.

Gilli's jaw dropped in surprise as he looked at the two visible from his magic before breaking out into crazed laughter, relieved beyond words that he was safe. It was brief when he realised what had almost happened. "You tried to shoot me!"

"How were we supposed to help it, mate? With you slinking around the tree line we thought you were hunting game," his good friend explained with his bow hanging loosely in his hand.

The warlock remembered the days in his hometown where he grew up and spent time with Gwaine, as he rested from the chase. He was the epitome of mischief and didn't give a damn about what other people thought. Living life to the fullest was what the man was all about, and Gilli could never forget the number of times he'd been encouraged to be himself and use magic.

His friend also had a fondness for taverns and ale, frequenting them when he had the opportunity and never afraid to flirt with the ladies. Sometimes Gwaine just didn't know when to stop and had caused more than his fair share of tavern brawls.

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Merlin was still looking from one man to the other as the animated talking after the near shooting implied Gwaine and Gilli already knew each other. Taking in the physical state of the younger warlock, Merlin didn't need his training from Gaius to know that Gilli was exhausted as he sat against the trunk of a tree.

Taking a few steps forward and into Gilli's line of sight, he watched the broader warlock raise his eyebrows upon seeing him correctly. "Merlin?" he said, looking confused.

"Gilli. It's been a while," he commented, not sure how to proceed before taking the easiest topic. "Who did you think we were?"

"Soldiers," the young warlock replied in a tone of certainty, making Merlin look to Gwaine who'd done the same. "One of the garrison at Nefeir figured me out."

 _Even an outlying village isn't safe for a sorcerer._

Without even thinking Merlin's eyes darted to Gwaine, who was looking back at him seriously. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Merlin looked to Gilli. "Come with us back to camp, Gilli. We'll talk there," Merlin suggested, extending his hand to the warlock resting against an old tree trunk.

Gilli accepted the hand without hesitation, and once the younger sorcerer was on his feet, Merlin swiftly led the way out of the woods and into a clearing with firewood sitting beside a half prepared campfire. Kneeling down by the pit and about to place the wood in amongst the tinder, Merlin's attention was drawn by Gwaine clearing his throat.

"Don't you have a better way, Merlin?" the knight asked, with a knowing look while the raven warlock shifted in his position by the pit.

About to object, he heard the sound of a grumbling stomach and decided to get the fire started quickly. Raising his hand Merlin instinctively glanced around before concentrating on what he wanted his magic to do. A moment later the crackling of a lively fire began to sound within the campsite. Remaining there and the warlock sighed watching the fire for a few seconds, before turning his attention to Gilli when he settled himself down on a log around the fire. Shaking his head, Merlin broke the silence. "Years ago I would have jumped at the chance to use my magic…" he muttered, turning his attention to Gilli as the broad-shouldered companion slouched forward on the log. "But now…well…you saw…"

"You've been in the heart of an anti-magic kingdom for years," Gilli reminded him. "I don't blame you. Being on the fringes of one is hard enough as it is."

Nodding solemnly and seating himself beside the younger warlock, Merlin looked up and noticed that Gwaine was gone. "Wait…Where'd Gwaine go?" he asked, hoping the soldier is searching for Gilli wouldn't run into him.

"Went off hunting while you were staring at the fire," he replied, calmly waved his hand to their general right towards the woods.

"Oh…" the dragonlord muttered before looking to the fellow man intently. "How were you discovered in Nefeir?" Merlin inquired, watching him rising from the log and proceed to walk around the campfire.

Gilli shrugged dismissively before looking to Merlin. "I don't know. I hardly used magic while the garrison was around," he answered, shoving his hands in his pockets and facing Merlin. "I just hope they don't go after Ben."

"Ben?" Merlin repeated, puzzled. "Magic?" he guessed.

Gilli shook his head. "Nope. Just a friend. We practised swordcraft every morning. He's got a wife and kids too," he elaborated and must have seen Merlin furrowing his eyebrows in thought. "Nefeir is prone to bandit attacks, so Ben and I kept our skills sharp. Once the garrison from Camelot arrived the two of us were the only ones who continued to practice."

Neither of them said anything for a little while. However, the silence broke when Gilli proceeded to shift on the log restlessly. Looking to the fellow warlock, Merlin felt sympathy for the younger man, because he could empathise. When you have friends that are known to be your friend, it's hard to relax when they could be at risk of being accused of magic. There were multiple times where Gaius nearly died because of him.

"Perhaps we should go to Nefeir to make sure Ben is alright?" Merlin suggested, believing it would make Gilli calm down if he knew whether or not Ben was okay.

"Thanks, mate. I hope Ben's safe."

Rising from the log and wandering around the campsite as they waited for Gwaine to return with the game, Merlin contemplated how they will hide Gilli from being spotted when they reach his home. Night always provided a good cover, but he didn't think that that will be enough for this time. Gilli was now a known fugitive, and the garrison would be on the lookout for him, particularly at night. From his understanding, they were half a day's regular ride from Nefeir and would be able to reach the village soon, which only meant that the garrison wouldn't have dropped their guard about Gilli yet. Continuing to ponder his options, Merlin clasped his hands behind his back and speculated possible plans for tomorrow.

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It's been a week since his encounter with Alvarr as he left the druid camp, and now he'd finally reached his destination for the most part as he stood on the edge of the Valley of the Fallen Kings, keeping a watchful eye for the bandits and thieves known to roam these parts. For that very reason, he walked through the woods with nothing but the moon to light his way.

During the time spent searching within this valley, Mordred hadn't been ignorant of the followers he gained on the ground as well as from the skies above. He'd kept to himself demonstrating no curiosity apart from that of purposely searching for something. He travelled further into the trees, the shadow following from high above steered off as the narrow paths weren't in its favour. The tail on the ground didn't veer away, and he hadn't anticipated any differently for it had followed him for days. If it hadn't been for his magic to protect him while he slept, Mordred believed he'd have been dead long ago.

Walking deeper in he noted the loose dirt, rocks, several ravines and the above ground roots of ancient trees that riddled the land. Nestled within leagues of this dangerous area was what druids considered to be a sacred rose within the thorns. Taking care to watch his footing, Mordred was taken by surprise at the snap of a branch behind him. Spinning on the ball of one foot as he took his sword out of its sheath with the opposite arm and simultaneously raised it in an upwards strike, slashing through the flesh of the man's neck and efficiently sending him to the ground moaning in pain.

Mordred didn't prolong the bandit's suffering and soon put him out of his misery. His actions proved to have greater results than he anticipated. He couldn't look away as the dead man's blood pooled around the body on the floor of fallen leaves in the dark of night.

 _Is this what I am to become?_

As that one thought swirled within and dominated his mind, bothering him, Mordred continued following the different markings within the valley, now driven by that one question to reach the end of his journey soon. This trip, now that he thought about it, could be a wrong decision. Ever since he received the foreknowledge of his destiny, he'd felt nothing but the heavy burden of knowing its existence.

 _Will this be of any help to me? Will it only add to the weight I already have to handle?_

The sound of purposely crunching leaves drew Mordred out of his stare at the dead bandit on the ground, turning his attention to the direction of another potential foe. Bandits often travelled in groups so that it wouldn't be all that unlikely. With a sword at the ready and a palm facing forward to use magic if necessary, but not too far from the cross guard so he could quickly respond with his blade should it be required.

"It seems you're not as averse to killing as you first appear, Mordred," the voice of Alvarr carried through the trees before the man himself appeared wearing his ever-present charismatic smile.

 _Had he been waiting for me to do it? Waiting for me to kill that man? Lingering just beyond the limits of my telepathy so I didn't sense him?_

As those thoughts and others similar spun within his mind, Mordred lowered his sword and looked at Alvarr with narrowed eyes, watching the man carefully.

The renegade druid was the first to speak as Mordred made it clear that he didn't intend to be. "We both know why you're here, Mordred; there's no point denying it," Alvarr asserted as he came closer and smiled in an almost patronising manner. "It must be frustrating to be told only a portion and having to come all this way."

Keeping his irritation, and consequently, his magic, in check Mordred spoke with a level but firm voice "What do you want, Alvarr?" Over time Mordred had learnt that emotional control also led to control of his magic, but Alvarr's following and persistence were beginning to grate against it at the moment.

"Your help," the older man answered as he came to lean against a tree, arms crossed in a relaxed manner, head tilted forward with fading brown hair hanging loosely near his eyes.

At first, Mordred was surprised by the answer but turned towards Alvarr to face the man entirely. He was a sceptic but wanted to know what this regarded. "My help?" A little of Mordred's disbelief seeping through the cracks.

Alvarr didn't move away from the tree against which he leant but smiled a little at Mordred response. "The more assistance towards the cause, the sooner we'll be free of the persecution," Alvarr explained calmly. "Something every sorcerer, witch and warlock desires," he may as well said the sky was blue.

His fellow druid did make sense about this cause. Mordred understood that the magical people had no one to lead the way to freedom. Clinging to false hope would do him no favours.

 _Would I want to hide for the rest of my life when I can do something about it? No, to hide who I mean I wouldn't be living, merely existing. If there is some way I could help myself and others become free, I won't hesitate to help. But I don't trust Alvarr; not considering the extent the man is willing to go to obtain something he desires. The ruthless way he'd killed the Camelot soldiers when attempting to steal the Crystal of Neahtid demonstrated just how far this man would go._

Something in Alvarr's answer demanded his attention and made Mordred tense up, for it could mean violence given the man's belief that the ends justify the means.

 _Maybe someone else is leading this_ 'cause'.

In need of some answers for these brand new questions, Mordred fully sheathed his sword. "What cause?" Mordred asked carefully taking a step forward as his curiosity got the better of him. "Is Iseldir aware of it?" he continued in that same manner, genuinely wishing to know what this man was doing.

The old sorcerer gave a smile of satisfaction as Mordred expressed interest in his affairs. "We'll make those who hunt us collapse from within without the spilling of any blood, well...almost," Alvarr explained to him while sounding a little too passionate for Mordred's comfort. For a moment he watched as Alvarr mildly smirked and muffled a chuckle "So no, he doesn't."

Pushing off from the trunk, he raised a hand towards Camelot to emphasise his next point. "And with Emrys doing nothing to help us this is as peaceful of a means as you're going to find, Mordred," Alvarr pushed on before turning his face back to the much younger warlock.

There was something that still bothered him.

 _Alright, fine. If I get involved in this cause, there is the chance it may turn out to be aggressive. If they do, I will need to act quickly in my tasks to prevent deaths._

"Why me?" he enquired with determination for a proper answer. "You must have followed me for nearly a week within these trees," he continued earnestly, pressing the vague man for a straight answer.

Mordred heard the man give a small, amused huff through the nose. Turning his eyes to Alvarr he looked curiously, searching for any clues of a lie or omission of the truth. "Emrys has done nothing since six months ago and Morgana the High Priestess has been missing for just as long; you're our next greatest asset," Alvarr reasoned as he leant against a random truck, looking at him while giving him the answer. As an afterthought, he casually added "And the sorcerers needed a rest," which only made Mordred's curiosity spike.

Understanding why Alvarr had been so persistent, Mordred took a step forward closer to the man and tilted his head a little, "What would you have me do?" Watching the man attempting to think of the most likely.

"Reconnaissance and observation," was the straightforward answer.

 _Those tasks seem rather mild and wouldn't bother me, but there's something else that does_.

"You waited until I killed the bandit," he brought up, taking back a half step. "Why?" Mordred asked in an angry tone, before realising his emotions were slipping and clamped down on them before anything happened. His magic was still developing. However, his strength would be less than Morgana's but above the rest of the druids.

"Reassurance," he began simply before standing tall in front of the trunk. "I couldn't invest and risk the cause for someone who can't defend himself, can I?" was the rhetorical question that followed.

Mordred anticipated the man saying more, but the calculating gaze coming his way made him subconsciously shift his feet as he waited for Alvarr to continue.

 _I'm not going to be left without answers again if I can help it._

Pushing off from the tree Alvarr retrieved something from within his pocket as he approached him. "Why don't you mull it over, Mordred?" he suggested in a friendly manner, still fishing his pockets. It was soon after that the man found whatever it was he was looking for and walked up to him with that natural smile adorning his face ."While I don't see the need for thinking, I'll back off a little. But here," he said as he extended his arm, holding out the same sort of small object.

"If you want to help us, your kind, send a raven to me bearing this and I'll find you."

And with the magic of a teleportation spell, the man was gone, leaving Mordred alone in the perilous valley as no one but he knew he was here.

After Alvarr had made his hasty departure Mordred looked at the, well, a _coin_ for lack of a better term, turning it over within his hands feeling its light weight. On both sides were the word 'Freedom' in different languages, one side in English and the other in druid script.

I _admit that Alvarr's proposition has captured my interest, for what other choice do we have now that Emrys and Morgana are missing or doing nothing? Iseldir would oppose my decision, but I have no intention of holding onto false hopes for my whole life._

A few hours of trekking through the dangerous area he eventually arrived at the Crystal Cave where he could feel the natural magic radiating from the entrance in waves. Embracing the feeling of such magic he released a long breath and took the plunge into the darkness where his answers for a now-pointless question resided.

Holding his hand out in front of him, Mordred felt his magic stir within him as he spoke " _Forbearnan_ ," and watched as a flame that didn't burn him came to life. Using the fire to light to illuminate, and it wasn't long before the fire's light reflected off this cave's namesake. There were so many crystals within this cave that to call it anything else wouldn't have done it justice.

Mordred just stood in the centre of the cave and couldn't help to admire it. The birthplace of magic and a truly magnificent sight. Once the awe he felt for this place was no longer at the forefront of his mind, Mordred took caution in his step. He searched for a crystal that would provide enough of an image; he could feel the intensity of the natural magic as it washed like the waves of a sea over his energy and mingled with it. It was so intoxicating that Mordred felt as though he was connected with the surrounding life forces and sense the animals moving around and above the cave. Very slowly Mordred regained his breath and could focus on the task at hand, soon finding a crystal to the size of his liking where he knelt before placing a hand on either side.

 _But do I want this? Do I want to know?_

"You don't want to rush into such things, Mordred," a young feminine voice advised from within the cave.

Startled, the druid spoke his first thoughts while losing control of his flame. "Who's there?"

Edging towards the entrance of the cave, he strained his eyes in the dark in an attempt to spot the speaker; however, luck was not on his side.

"It doesn't matter who I am, but what I have to say does," the voice continued, with undertones of sympathy while she spoke with no malice.

Keeping himself hidden near the entrance, he feared the pounding of his heart could give him away. "Yesss?" he strained through a tight throat.

"Listen to your brain," she spoke plainly before audibly moving around in the cave. "You humans overthink too much."

He didn't move a muscle for several minutes, unsure of just _what_ had spoken to him. Considering going back in, but giving it much pause, he finally gathered the courage and took slow, cautious steps further into the cave.

Once he was close to pitch darkness within the tunnel, Mordred held out his hand and focussed his energy, imagining a smooth ball slightly ahead of himself. " _Leoht_ " he incanted, watching as it came into existence with the light bouncing off the crystals embedded in the walls and floor. No matter what direction he looked there wasn't another being in sight, unnerving him at the thought that he'd been taken off guard in such a way.

Finding the crystal, he was initially going to use; Mordred knelt in front of it with his hands on his knees, and his nails are digging into them, scraping against the fabric of his pants as the uncertainty raked through him.

Mordred hesitated, the palms of his hands were hovering just shy of the crystal's surface, and the answers contained within. The partial knowledge of the prophecy already weighed heavily on his shoulders.

 _Possibly gain an answer, either good or ill or forever wonder about my future._

The choice would have been such an easy one to make hadn't destiny been the subject in question.

 _To gain a desirable answer about my foretold murderous future would be a blessing, but if the outcome from using the crystal confirmed my dread, I would much rather wander to earth until the end of my days not knowing. But if the answer is what I most hope, would it be worth not knowing on the off chance that the answer to such as major question has a poor outcome?_

The circular manner in which these issues repeated themselves made him step back from the crystal as the catch of the situation ground away at his mind. Walking over to the centre of the cave, he stood there with his arms crossed, keeping his eyes on that crystal. Mordred didn't know how long he'd been standing but at one point he'd taken out the coin and stared at it in the mystic light after he'd felt his hand brush against the bump of his shirt pocket where Alvarr's coin resided.

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	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin**

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

 _"Blah" T_ elepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

 _Blah_ Thoughts/Emphasised words

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 **A Broken Coin 1:**

Chapter 4

It was with gritted teeth that he stood in his chambers and endured the overbearing service of George, finding it difficult to do as his wife asked and be polite to the manservant. Merlin never was the bootlicker sort of servant, and Arthur had to admit he'd grown far too used to the man's witty and sarcastic personality over the years. George, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Although the other servants worked with respect and saw to his every whim on the rare chance that Merlin wasn't around to do just that, George took it a step further and seemed to make it his personal mission to do everything humanly possible for Arthur.

And that type of service wasn't well received, for it drove Arthur mad after experiencing a far more casual and relaxed environment with Merlin whereas George was constantly in his face if not tasked with something in another room.

 _Not to mention those thrice-damned brass jokes._

Taking a seat at the food-laden table, the king glanced around the room and didn't recognise the place. Spotless and not a thing where it shouldn't be. When his eyes landed on George, standing all prim and proper at Arthur's beck and call, the king couldn't have managed a groan before the man was upon him once more.

"Is everything as you wish, milord?" the concerned manservant enquired, looking ready to jump out the window if Arthur was to ask it of him.

 _Not a bad idea…_

… _would not go down well with Guinevere though._

 _Great…_

"Yes, yes," he confirmed before dismissively waving in the general direction of the door. "Go and…polish my armour," he suggested, desiring some peace and quiet.

He thought the man would jump for joy at the task, as it was his favourite, but to his dismay, George didn't move.

"Well?"

"Your armour was polished yesterday evening, Sire. Is there anything else?" George replied in that unbearably polite tone with a hint of pride, smiling and looking to his king with attentive eyes. Arthur had to bite down on his lip to stop from cursing Merlin's absence.

"Make yourself useful elsewhere," the king instructed in a firm manner, so not to lose his remaining ounce of restraint not to explode. However, his wife and her beauty entered their chambers, saving George from Arthur's earful he'd been close to unleashing.

Turning to the woman of his life, Arthur rose and held her close for a moment, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. She was a sight for sore eyes on this early morning.

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She could feel the carriage slow to a halt, followed by the thuds of Sir Leofric and Richard leaving the bench from which they drove the horses. Sliding out of the shade of the carriage, Mithian peered around the side and carefully observed the hovels and fields a reasonable distance away. The silence and lack of activity were eerie, for it was the middle of the day and should have been buzzing with activity.

Turning to her two knights who were sharing looks of similar suspicion, she spotted their hand edge towards their sword hilts before the princess went to the carriage to retrieve her bow and full quiver. Looking for the two men and seeing them grimace to one another before glancing her way, Mithian understood they wanted to investigate while she stayed out of harm's way. Nodding in understanding, not believing this to be the best time to create a fuss, she relented and climbed onto the bench, taking the reins and watched the pair go towards the village.

Following not far behind with the horses at a slow walk, Mithian kept a watchful eye on her surroundings as she steered the transport in the general direction of the City of Nemeth.

 _I know they mean well and are simply doing their job, but I honestly hate being a princess sometimes._

The brunette shook her head and maintained awareness of all around her; her body tensed and ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. Time seemed to drag on as she waited for a sign, but none came.

Unfortunately, the direction towards the city would take her past the village, and she began to hear the sound of a herald as the horses continued their steady pace.

Increasing her speed and paying attention to the voice while the carriage drew closer, Mithian began to fidget subconsciously and frown as she occasionally heard a word that was spoken louder than the rest.

Now moving at a quick trot, the princess regent could make out more of the speech before deciding that she'd had enough of this guessing game. Bringing the horses to a halt as they reached the edge of the fields, she spoke the code word into their ears and patted their necks before proceeding forth on her own.

Coming upon the scene in the village centre, Mithian raised her eyebrows at the sight of imposter dressed as her and bearing a well-forged decree, surrounded by a party of two dozen knights.

"You will finally have the freedom denied to you," the disguised woman proclaimed, passing the decree to one of the men with her, who went and nailed it onto a post. "Those who desire to make a difference and ensure you feel liberty once I am queen, meet me in the Northern Forest in three day's times so we can begin!"

Feeling uneasy about this imposter and searching for Sir Leofric and Richard, Mithian spotted two men within the imposter's group carrying a chest that rattled as they walked. Listening intently it sounded like pieces of metal clashing against one another, and unable to investigate further without raising suspicion she looked to the village folk. Some of them had rather skinny coin purses, the conclusion making her blood boil at the thought of her subjects robbed of their hard-saved gold.

Her hip flared with a sharp pain in response to her anger and Mithian, desperate not to be noticed, gritted her teeth, but failed to realise someone was watching her. Soon after she was startled upon feeling a firm grip on her shoulder.

"You're coming with us," one of the fake knights told her, before steering her towards the imposter. Eyes wide, she looked for her knights with no success but spotted a few villagers taken from their home.

Looking for the man with a neutral but confused expression, she asked a simple question. "Why?"

The fake gave her a knowing smile, although she had no idea what his reason was. "You hide it well, but I know the truth about your little secret. You're one of us," he smugly replied, maintaining his grip while leading her to the imposter's party.

There was nothing she could say to change this man's mind. Perhaps she'd been standing near a magic user and mistaken for them. She had no magic. No one in her immediate family, dead or alive, had ever had magic.

Not putting up a fight, for now, Mithian kept a level head as best she could and cooperated with the man to prevent herself from leaving an impression of potential trouble. The quicker they forget about her personally and just see her as a number in the group of taken sorcerers the sooner she could plan and implement an escape.

Soon placed with the rest of the presumed magical village folk, Mithian kept her head down and did as told. Following the imposter and it's knights northward she took a final glance back, spotting her knights within the village.

Richard looked in her direction and had his hand going for the hilt of his sword, but a firm shake of her head made him stall. Looking forward, Mithian kept her eyes to the ground and hoped her face down, and the bangs of her hair would conceal her true identity.

 _Well, here's your chance to not be a princess, Mithian._

 _...I could always say I can jinx a person's day..._

 _...Hopefully, I can slip away from this imposter party without drawing attention._

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Within the Crystal Cave, Aithusa entered the main cavern where she spotted the druid boy deep in thought and failing to notice her presence. Motionless, the dragon could feel the restless magic stirring within Mordred, despite how utterly still he was. Narrowing her eyes, she imagined herself seeing all of his secrets; Aithusa involuntarily gasped at the intensity as they rushed into her mind like a tsunami.

It took time as her mind fought to keep up and process everything **,** but once the initial pressure was gone, she felt a tear form in the corner of her eye at all that he'd been through and let it fall freely. "Oh, Mordred..."

 _I'm glad I decided to do this._

Her mind dominated by the need to provide reassurance, Aithusa was slow to realise her muttered words had drawn the druid from his thoughts. Once her eyes were seeing what was in front of her once more, the dragon saw the man who was just out of boyhood stare with his mouth agape before furrowing his eyebrows in thought.

"You're not here to harm me," he murmured to himself before a blink and turned to her as he fidgeted restlessly. "Can I help you, noble dragon?"

Aithusa grimaced at the title, despite the fact it was something she would normally be happy to hear. "Let's start with calling me, 'Aithusa'. I'm not fond with ceremony," she commented, giving the poor soul a soft smile before becoming intent on finding answers. "Why would you believe I wish to harm you?"

Watching Mordred's face, she saw the hesitation before he swallowed and looked away for a moment.

 _My kind then._

 _...Kilgharrah_

"I understand," Aithusa remarked, shaking her head slowly at the news that her mentor was intent on ending Mordred's life. A young druid who was stumbling within the darkness of prophecy and destiny. "I'm sorry, Mordred. Kilgharrah, he's well, he's set in his ways and won't open his eyes to possibilities. The best you can do for those like him is prove them wrong by being who you are, not what you're expected to be."

The young man turned to her with widened eyes. "Aithusa..." he spoke unsurely, garnering a smile from her upon using her name, giving him a little confidence." Do you believe I can be a just person, rather than this prophesied murderer?"

Her expression is softening at the display of vulnerability, she sat down and gestured for him to do the same. "There is good and evil inside all of us," Aithusa began, seeing the hope in Mordred's eyes waiver and feeling guilt for making him worried. "What matters is the part we choose to act on," finished the dragon, looking to the druid and seeing renewed hope that faltered a moment later.

"And what of I saw in the crystal? I was a murderer in two of my three visions," he pointed out, drawing his knees close. "These weren't something I heard, but saw for myself."

Rising onto her paws, she moved and sat right in the centre of Mordred's line of sight. "I wouldn't be here if I believed there was no hope for you, Mordred. Sometimes you just have to be yourself and live by your morals, because the more you try to prevent something from a vision you only make it occur."

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Seeing the sky-blue eyes of Aithusa stare right into his stormy ones made him fidget. He was afraid of disappointing the dragon that held so much faith into him. Dropping his gaze to the stone ground, Mordred saw the coin in his chest pocket and pulled it out. Holding it with both hands and mindlessly turned it over, he quickly threw it across the cave floor and silently vowed not to look at it.

"What's that?" The white dragon questioned quietly, turning her head in the direction of the coin and approaching it.

He didn't say anything about it at first; just maintaining his gaze on the crystal used last night. "It's nothing but trouble. Just leave it there, Aithusa," he advised firmly, rising to his feet and walking the length of the cave before hearing the sound of metal against rock.

 _I'll never be involved with Alvarr and his business, cause, plot. If a being as noble as a dragon has faith in my future, then I will not wastefully dismiss that._

"What does it do?" the young dragon asked from behind him, accompanied by the rattling of her curiosity.

Letting out a sigh at the fact she persisted, he squared his shoulders and looked to her, the coin between her paws.

 _Watching the coin won't do any harm. It doesn't mean I can't hate the thing, though._

Going over and refusing to touch it, he knelt next to Aithusa as she watched him with her bright sky blue eyes. "It's just a coin I'm to send with a raven if I want to join the rebels," the young man obliged, capturing the dragon's interest and compelled to say more. "There's nothing magical about it; I simply have no desire to keep the thing."

"I think you should keep it."

 _What?_

He must have given himself away, for she continued to speak. "Well think about it," Aithusa began, rising from beside him and going around him until they were face to face. "It's got no magic, so can't be spying on you for anyone. If something on that thing is a clue to a secret, you can use that knowledge against them. But honestly, what harm could keeping it do?" She finished rhetorically, pushing the coin with her tail towards him.

"It's your choice and in the end, I don't care that much, but think everything through before throwing something away," Aithusa reiterated and set herself down once more with a sigh, before muttering to herself. "Merlin has made that mistake more than once."

 _Emrys? What is she talking about?_

She looked his way for a moment. "More than once and on someone else's word."

That confused him, raising more questions than answers.

Pocketing the coin and quickly sitting beside the white dragon, Mordred saw her frown and mindlessly fidget while lost in thought. Looking her over, he came to realise that she had to be young. However, she didn't seem to have the spirit of a being respective to her age. Raising a hand towards her scales, the shake of his fingers intensified along with the urge to pull away the closer he got.

Sure that her acute hearing would catch the sound of his uneven breaths, Mordred did his best to control himself before finally lowering near her neck but pulling away at the last second.

To his surprise, Aithusa stood up suddenly and blinked upon feeling his hand on her side. Mordred gulped nervously with many thoughts rushing through his mind, he left it there and awaited the reaction as his arm had never felt so stiff.

Turning and making eye contact with him, Aithusa smiled for a moment before looking down.

Not wanting to overstep any invisible lines and disrespect her, the druid removed his hand and fidgeted under her gaze. "I'm sorry...I wanted to..."

 _Make her feel better? Think she's not alone?_

"It's alright, Mordred. The truth is I don't mind, and you don't have to fear me. We're both beings on the living plane, neither of us wants to harm the other unless you have a secret?" she replied with a cheeky grin towards the end, shaking her head and move towards the cave's exit. "Take care and look forward, my friend," Aithusa spoke in farewell once out of his sight in the dark cave.

The druid rushed out and looked up at the sound of leathery wings, spotting Aithusa's tail as she ascended.

 _"I'd stay and talk, but I have lingered here long as it is. Be careful, Mordred. We are not out of the woods yet."_

 _"You too, noble dragon."_

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Riding with his party of Round Table knights except for Gwaine, Arthur followed his soldier onwards as he had been doing since dawn. Yesterday evening the man had sought an audience with him, looking exhausted and full of urgency Arthur hadn't seen for many months. The same urgency Merlin normally bore, but he'd brush off and would later turn out to be true.

Upon sitting the soldier down and ordering a manservant to prepare guest chambers, Arthur seated himself down at the Round Table and heard him out.

Sorcerer in Nefeir.

Bandit attacks haven't happened.

 _It had to be the sorcerer organising the attacks, choosing to hide when the garrison came_.

With the news of their escape, Arthur enlisted George with the preparation of the party's departure in the morning, who was more than happy to oblige. Intent on not concerning his wife, he told her he was going on a hunt for a few days, hoping to catch the sorcerer before any trails go cold.

Returning his attention to his surroundings and taking note of the party's condition, the king quickly summarised that the noon break had rejuvenated them enough for a few more hours of travel. Considering they'd been going hard since before dawn this morning, the distance made by the party was commendable. However, Arthur knew that the easier he made the journey for the horses and men, the faster they could arrive at Nefeir.

Watching the path that his soldier was taking, the king knew it was the time that he took the lead. "Samuel," he called out, which slowed the soldier's pace for a moment. "I'm taking over. I know a quicker route from here."

"Yes, Sire," nodded Samuel, who dropped back and joined the knights behind Arthur.

No man spoke a word given the severity of the situation, reinforcing the need to resolve this quickly as he led the party. The village that was their destination was but a speck of brown in the distance, which wasn't saying much. At the current rate, Arthur predicted they'd reach the village by this time tomorrow.

He knew this pace would make the soldier impatient considering the man had reached Camelot within a day, but given the fact that he was a trained messenger and not wearing a suit of armour like himself and the knights it was to be expected.

Sending the man ahead to begin searching for clues would be the first choice; however, his fellow soldiers were already at Nefeir and searching, making the order pointless. He was most useful being here should they encounter the sorcerer, for he knew what the fugitive looked like while they only had a description from Samuel.

Knowing that time wasn't on their side, Arthur didn't dare lower the party's guard with any remarks. They needed to catch the sorcerer before he could wreak havoc upon Nefeir or the home of any other innocent Camelot citizens. His pride would not allow it.

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Mounted on Blaze, his trusted mare was Gwaine riding beside Merlin and Gilli who were sharing Merlin's black stallion. With the hot noon heat making him sweat, the knight looked to the warlocks and noticed they didn't seem too bothered by it and was going to make a witty comment when he thought he heard something.

Attention turned to the village ahead; he could see Nefeir was crawling with soldiers, searching the hovels for clues. The citizens stood gathered in the centre of Nefeir. Some of them looking frightened and following the soldiers with their eyes rather than looking at their neighbours with suspicion and distrust.

Raising an eyebrow and looking to Gilli, he gave the man a moment. "Do they look familiar?"

The broader warlock nodded, grabbing the reins from Merlin and steering the horse towards the trees, yet keeping an eye on the men ahead.

Without speaking a word, Gwaine was fast to follow and swiftly dismissed the idea of a fire and warm stew tonight. There was more at stake than the comforts he was used to.

 _No trivial matter is worth more than a friend. I'd go cold many nights over if it meant safety for Merlin and Gilli._

"The place is creeping with soldiers, fellas. What do you want to do?" Gwaine asked, tying his horse to a tree and looking at the pair.

Merlin, for the most part, was setting up for the night sans the fire, proceeding to murmur a few words on the outskirts of their hiding place, but not looking too confident as he did so. "I've never done this sort of magic before…That was improvised spell work at best. We'll have to be quiet in case it doesn't hold," he advised, lines etched across his forehead. Turning to Gilli, he nodded. "It's up to you. What do you want to do about your friend?"

Coming over to Merlin and Gilli, Gwaine put a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "We're here for you, mate. Just say the word and we'll do it."

Gwaine wasn't quite sure what they could do to check in on Ben with so many soldiers turning everything upside down searching for Gilli. Wandering over to the edge of Merlin's weak spell work, he was careful not to make too much noise as he knelt down and looked in Nefeir's direction.

Watching the soldiers and counting them as best he could, Gwaine would wager there were fifteen of them total. Scratching his head and dropping his hand onto his knee, the knight frowned and backed away from the edge until he was in the centre once more. As the two of them talked briefly, he fidgeted with the hilt of his sword.

"We've got fifteen soldiers in the village looking for you, Gilli," he informed them, Gilli focussing on him with an expression of uncertainty. Seeing this, he made to ask what but the younger warlock dismissed the unasked question, so Gwaine continued the discussion. "You'd know their behaviour better than us. What time would be the easiest to slip in and check on Ben and his family?"

"Pre-dawn," Gilli replied in a clear voice, giving a nod of confidence to him and Merlin. "It's the watch that no one does very well. Sneaking around at that hour isn't too difficult if you slipped something into tonight's stew," Gilli replied with a suggestive look to Merlin.

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Nodding to Gilli, Merlin proceeded to think of what herbs were generally in this area and soon had an answer for his kin. "Sedatives don't grow here, but there is always more than one way to skin a cat."

The knight shrugged, leaning against a trunk. "We're all ears, mate."

Rubbing his chin, the dragonlord proceeded to pace with crossed arms before coming to a halt and turning to face the other two. "I know of one thing I could use. Just need the time to get it," Merlin replied, rubbing his hands together while looking at the woods around him in thought, choosing where to start searching.

Gilli shifted on his feet for a moment with concern etched on his face. "Just be careful, Merlin."

About to response, Gwaine beat him to it with a confident smile. "You don't have to worry about him. How do you think he survived Camelot after all these years?"

"How you didn't give me away with all that ale is beyond me..." he commented with a cheeky grin to Gilli.

"O ye of little faith, Merlin," retorted, the knight, tossing a bedroll in Merlin's path making the warlock sidestep out of the way.

With a shake of his head, the dragonlord left the site and proceeded with his search for a mild toxin that grew north of the village. On one or two occasions he feared he'd drawn attention from the soldiers, but thankfully they were false alarms, leaving him to find the plant in which the toxin grew.

Breath kept quiet and level; Merlin stalked through the woods making minimal noise as he'd done many times. Moving slower in response to the sounds ahead, he could hear the chatter of many voices and feel the mild warmth radiating from the same direction. Turning around towards Nefeir, the warlock saw only trees and no clue of the site where Merlin last saw his friends. Swallowing and venturing forth, he soon calmed upon feeling the familiar tingle of magic upon his skin.

Creeping closer to the warmth and sound, he paid no heed to the position of the sun and never kept his eyes in one place for too long, or risk discovery from dropping his guard. Unexpectedly the extra heat on his skin as he progressed dwindled and finally ended, as did the chatter that he'd been following, the change heightening his senses and driving him to sneak from tree to tree.

Back tense and muscles prepared to spring into action, Merlin found himself with a clearing featuring a fire pit holding much charcoal and charred wood. Eyes darted around for any clues; there were fresh hoof prints and a kind of picture drawn in the dirt nearby.

 _What is this?_

With a closer look, the dragonlord was quick to learn what it truly was. Symbols of water, trees and a cluster of triangles and surrounding lines.

 _Of all times for something like this._

Abandoning the idea of harvesting the mild toxin, Merlin turned to leave but not without receiving the shock of low sunlight hitting his eyes, leaving him briefly blinded. Stumbling and grabbing hold of a trunk, he shut his eyes tight to wait out the pain from the sun.

 _No...Gwaine, Gilli. They don't have a clue! They'll be sitting ducks!_

His veins felt alive. Blood pumped through them as he ran with all he had, crushing the dried leaves and branches underfoot. His mind set on one thing and nothing else, but luck was not on his side as the last of the failing sunlight faded left him in the dark of night.

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Beating her wings against the high-altitude wind currents, Aithusa chased the telepathic connection all dragons shared, searching with a raging mind for the miserable, all-be-doomed lump that called himself a dragon. The link was getting shorter; she was almost upon him when a foreign state of distress was louder than her anger.

 _You'll get a piece of my mind another day, you shaming heap of faeces, Kilgharrah!_

The dragon felt her hatcher's bond pulsing with desperation, determination and loyalty. Banking hard until facing south Aithusa fought against the currents, determined to reach her dragonlord who needed help.

She pushed on through the opposing wind but could feel her wings growing weary from the work that made little progress; looking down at the lower clouds her mind was soon made up.

 _I don't care. I'm not failing Merlin!_

Pulling her wings in; Aithusa proceeded to plummet towards the earth like a peregrine falcon, seeking air with less resistance.

The difference was tremendous, her flight easing ten-fold once below the clouds. Not wasting a moment she built speed, dropping a little closer to the ground with her weary wings.

Eyes ahead and mind on the bond, the dragon flew single-mindedly with determination to reach her dragonlord. Trees below rustled as she propelled through the air, some animals letting out sounds of fright, but she paid little heed to it all when her eyes fell upon a small fire some distance below.

Sight fixed upon it and angled for the descent; Aithusa searched with her mind while laboriously pumping. Sensing she was getting closer but yet to spot him, she landed in a clearing amongst the trees.

 _"Merlin...Merlin!"_

Lack of response from the warlock made her tense up, but still, she felt the urgency as before. Moving closer to the dim light of a fire, she strode through the trees with ease thanks for her small form.

There came a harsh whisper from her right followed by the crushing of quick feet on leaves. Snapping her head to where the sound had come, she involuntarily gasped at the sight. Looking for a place to take flight and panicked at the lack of one she raced towards the firelight.

Everything was getting worse by the second, horses neighing and pulling against their tree-bound reins, men in armour getting up and drawing their swords.

"On me!"

"Sire! No!"

Five armoured men raced towards her, letting out battle cries as they closed in upon her in a semicircle.

Backing away, she frantically looked for a means to take flight and saw a gap in their formation. Charging through it and pushing off, she focused her mind on the bond and followed it as she ascended.

Her mind levelling to something more reasonable but adrenaline still pumped within her. Aithusa looked down and saw six riders in pursuit.

Heart beginning to race again, the dragon beat her wings with the new found energy and proceeded to lose them. Focussing in her destination the young dragon pushed on with her tired body.

After some time she couldn't see the knights anymore, and the energy proceeded to drop away while her heart slowed.

Exhausted from hours of continuous flight since before noon, Aithusa could feel the fatigue was taking over her body.

 _"Merlin...Merlin..." she_ called out with a tired voice, looking to the ground below sight of him.

Focussing on the bond, the worn and loyal dragon took note that Merlin was an hour's flight away.

 _Just a little further._

 _But what use am I to him dead on my paws?_

Her body ached all over, and her patience was long gone. _"Merlin! Answer me, damn it!"_

Silence.

" _MERLIN!"_ she screamed across the bond, her body feeling stress from her anxiety and quickening breath.

Fighting the urge to land and succumb to her exhaustion, Aithusa weakly flapped her white wings in her attempt to reach him. It was a battle she was losing and knew it. Admission of defeat was not something a dragon knew, but there were a time and place for everything even in the most stubborn and prideful of creatures. Abandoning focus on the bond, Aithusa put all mental effort into keeping herself airborne until she could find a place to land and sleep.

Eyelids struggling to stay open and her energy reaching new lows, the dragon ceased to flap and descended in a glide towards the nearest cluster of trees she could see. They would serve her little cover compared to a cave, but there was no other option for leagues. The failure to reach her dragonlord during his hour of need washed through her mind, making her fall into the mindset for a restless sleep.

Aithusa made no effort for a smooth landing and firmly impacted into a ditch of mud and dirt. Pushing herself to rise and move in the direction of her dragonlord, she stumbled and fell when her worn body gave out. Her breathing shuddered before she could feel it slowly shut down, a tear falling from the corner of her eye.

" _I'm sorry…"_

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	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin**

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

 _"Blah" T_ elepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

 _Blah_ Thoughts/Emphasised words

XXXXXXX New scene

 **A Broken Coin 1:**

Chapter 5

The sun was beginning to shine its first rays over the new day, however, not all were beginning to stir for they'd been up for some time. Although it was quiet, the tension in the camping site made every sound seem ten times louder. Four men and a woman were hiding within it. A knight and a peasant were seated together while a second peasant and his wife were huddled over the fourth, currently unconscious at the trunk of a tree.

"I can't believe I sent him into a tree," Gilli muttered as he rose from the log and walked towards Merlin.

A hand soon clasped his shoulder, making the warlock jump in surprise. "You couldn't be blamed, mate. He came barrelling in here like hell was on his heels, and Nefeir is crawling with soldiers after you," Gwaine pointed out before he let go and knelt next to Merlin. "You _could_ have been a bit easier on him though. He's been out cold for hours."

Gilli looked over to Gwaine restlessly, fidgeting before looking over to his whole reason for coming here. Kneeling on the other side of Merlin was Benjamin, who Gilli had snuck into the village for last night after knocking Merlin out cold. "Will he be alright, Ben?"

The father of three rose and gave his full attention. "Honestly Gil?" Ben commented with a backwards glance. "I don't know and neither does Orla, but you need a professional," he continued, making Gilli and Gwaine frown considering where they were. "Or a druid," the peasant suggested quietly after a wary look towards Nefeir.

Feeling unsure who Ben was referring to, Gilli thought of the one camp he knew. "The clan across the border?" he guessed, frowning when he looked to the horses. "It's too far. Surely there's someone closer?"

Ben rested a hand on his side and gave the young warlock a look. "For someone like _me_ perhaps it would be too far, but not you, Gilli," the man remarked, dropping down beside Merlin as he stirred. Orla keeping a watchful gaze on Merlin's bruising and blood flow.

Scratching the back of his head and nodding to himself for not thinking of it, Gilli took note of his company and frowned.

Gwaine interrupted his thoughts. "Oh, I don't think I like that look. What's the problem?"

"Ben's right," he admitted but looked to Gwaine apologetically. "But I can only take Merlin," Gilli continued regrettably.

The knight nodded solemnly, glancing Merlin's way for a moment and shook his head irritably. "We're wasting too much time. Just tell me where to go and I'll find you," he stressed, before dropping the frustration and clasped Gilli's shoulder. "Those soldiers out there are looking for you, mate. It's best that you do go-," Gwaine spoke but faltered abruptly, dragging Gilli down to the ground. "DROP!"

 _Thunk…thunk, thunk, thunk…THUNK!_

"Ben! Orla! Get back to Nefeir!" the knight shouted, drawing his sword and running forward. "Gilli! Take him and go!"

"…bandits…Nefeir…attack…" murmured Merlin as he stirred again, groaning when he tried to move. "My head…"

Racing towards Merlin, Gilli dropped and tried to keep a level head. "You've been injured. I'm taking you to druids-"

"Ahhhh!" screamed the men behind him. The warlock spun around and saw nothing but fire in front of Gwaine, who was backing away from someone Gilli couldn't see.

"Gilli," Gwaine called out in a calmer tone. "Hold that spell."

Rising from his place beside Merlin, he came over and was about to talk sense into the man when he saw what had come to their aid. "A dragon." He knew what they were capable of, however, he didn't see why it would help considering what aid they had already received was unusual, to put it lightly. As a general rule, the few dragons that were still alive tended to avoid human contact or interaction after what Uther did last time a dragon trusted a human.

It was looking a little worse for wear but didn't have a scratch on its small, white body. "Move," the dragon commanded with a worn determination. It approached them and made no effort to alter its course despite the fact they clearly weren't what it was interested in. Gilli stood dumbstruck beside Gwaine as it got closer. The dragon's face darkened at the lack of change. "Do _not_ make me say it again," it threatened, its eyes holding an internal fire. "I said… _Move_."

Stumbling out of the young dragon's way like a fool, Gilli watched Gwaine stare at it perplexed. "What?"

Turning to him, Gwaine was too calm about all of this and only muttered. "Never imagined she'd be like that."

"What'd you mean?" However, there was no reply. "Who is she, Gwaine?"

"A dragon Merlin hatched a year ago. Met Aithusa about a week back."

 _Why would she be here?_

Gilli watched her approach the dragonlord and drop onto her stomach once by his side. Something didn't seem right though, given how prideful of a species dragons were said to be. The manner she was behaving was almost like someone determined to fulfil something important with what little energy they had left.

"Aithu...sa?" murmured Merlin, his hand reaching out slowly. "You're...exhausted."

The dragon let out a weak snort, an expression of bewilderment as she drew her head back a little. "What in the name of the goddess happened that you didn't hear me, Merlin?" she demanded with waning anger. "You look awful. Hold still."

Curious about what it meant to be a dragonlord, Gilli watched on while the two spoke before the young dragon healed her kin. At one point Gwaine slipped away in the direction of Nefeir, likely in pursuit of Benjamin and Orla who'd fled in panic at Gwaine's instruction. Clearly, he trusted the dragon enough to leave Merlin in her care.

Approaching the pair, Gilli knelt on the other side of Merlin and nervously looked to Aithusa, who watched him with a critical eye. "It was me. We were on high alert and Merlin came bursting in out of nowhere. I'm on the run and just reacted," he confessed, dropping his eyes to Merlin who was propped on an elbow with the other hand against the healing bruise. "I sent him into the tree."

He turned back to Aithusa and hoped she could forgive him for what happened. His attention return to Merlin when the dragonlord patted his shoulder with an embarrassed smile. "It was a bit stupid of me, wasn't it? Come on, help me up."

The dragon remained resting by the tree and looked more than ready to fall asleep. "Just take it easy, Merlin. I'm not Kilgharrah," she advised, her voicing tapering off when she closed her eyes.

Letting go of Gilli's shoulder, Merlin tested his balance before looking to the young dragon fondly for a moment, the smile soon replaced by great urgency. "We have to get to Nefeir. Bandits will attack the village soon. I saw the plans when searching for the toxin last night."

 _Ben and the kids!_

Gilli spun on his heel and raced towards the village but found his mouth full of dirt and Merlin on the ground beside him. Spitting it out, he turned to Merlin angrily. "What are you playing at? We've got to warn them. Ben's in there! And his family!"

Merlin sighed. "I know it's frustrating and I've been in your position Gilli, but there's nothing you can do. The garrison would think you're behind it, they're looking for you. Trust us, we'll do everything we can to ready Nefeir. If you see the bandits remain unseen and tell me with your mind," instructed the dragonlord, dashing in Gwaine's direction without looking back.

Scowling at Merlin's back he returned to the campsite and saw Aithusa fast asleep where he'd left and frowned, staring at her thoughtfully and looking around warily.

 _Is she aware there is going to be an attack soon? Any moment the bandits could come charging in._

Wandering around the campsite with a watchful eye, he noticed his subconscious fidget and shook his head.

 _Just when Ben is in a time of need, there is nothing I can do! What kind of twisted joke is this?_

Looking up at trees for the sturdiest one, Gilli proceeds to climb it as quietly as possibly, determined to make himself useful in this complicated situation. Benjamin and Gilli once swore to assist one another should there ever be a time when one of them was in trouble or danger, and Ben had followed through with that pact when the garrison worked out Gilli had magic, providing the warlock with a warning and what supplies he could spare. This time it was Ben who needed the help and acting as a lookout was the best Gilli could do. Gilli didn't notice he was gripping the branches too firmly until he felt a splinter in his hand.

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The vegetation around them was full of life and blew lightly in the morning wind, creating a peaceful impression around the large quiet campsite, but things couldn't be further from the truth. In her shirt, trousers and cloak from yesterday, Mithian kept a wary eye on the leaders, especially the imposter who had to be using magic to maintain the façade of being Princess Mithian.

Last night presented Mithian with no opportunity to flee and so she was still here amongst rebels and those with no desire to be here. One isn't trained to become the future Queen of Nemeth without learning or improving their judge of character, and of the many here, she'd identified a few sympathisers. Most here were content and lacked the subtle signs of discomfort a small portion displayed. Walking towards a supporter a little older than herself, but stopping short by many paces, Mithian gestured towards a secluded area she found last night and waited until he was out of sight before following.

Heart beating against her chest as she glanced around for any watchful eyes, Mithian released a breath and turned to the like-minded man. "Do you still wish to leave this camp?" she whispered, whipping her head back but seeing nothing. "Is anyone there?" she breathed, to which he shook slightly.

He looked at her intently for a few minutes before his eyes tightened like he was increasing focus or thought.

"You don't have magic." It was a statement, not a question.

"Yes," she breathed, moving further away from the camp and sitting beside the warlock. "But the leaders think I do." She whispered into his ear and faked a smile as he watched the entrance to the clearing. The act could easily be mistaken for affection from an infatuated woman.

"Why?"

Mithian could only shake her head at the question, baffled that the rebels thought she did. "I don't know." Glancing at the sun's position she returned to the matter at hand. "We mustn't delay, Connor. Are you with me?" His gaze was enough of an answer. "We have a day or so before this camp is attacked. Unless we act quickly and-"

Connor snapped his head in her direction "What?" There'd been no opportunity to inform the king.

 _There really isn't any other choice in the matter…How?…The jewel, but it must remain hidden._

Looking at him pleadingly, Mithian took his hand and although he resisted at first with questioning eyes she persisted. "What? Thea? You're a beautiful woman, but no."

"Connor. I can't take it out. Someone could see," she stressed slowly, maintaining her grip on the young man's wrist but he wasn't about to give in either.

 _This is getting nowhere and I don't have the time. Fighting him won't help me._

Standing up and going over to the side of the clearing, she began gathering her hair and pulling it away from her face. "If you won't touch the necklace-"

"-Necklace? Why didn't you just-"

"Who do I look like, Connor?" she demanded before forcing her features to soften for a moment. "You know I have no magic, now tell me. Who?" she pressed quickly dropping her hair and hiding part of her appearance once more.

With the man clearly gawking at her in surprise and Mithian's missing patience almost made her do something she would regret when he finally snapped out of it. "She's a fake?" he muttered towards the camp with disbelief and turned to Mithian. "You're-"

"Yes. I am _Thea_ and my friends won't be far away by now. We must hurry."

Connor shook off the last of his stupor and became serious, continuing to steal glances in the direction of the camp every now and again. "The leaders intend to gather more followers and will be leaving in about an hour; we'll be left here with the lower ranking members."

 _Finally…progress we could have made five minutes ago._

"Good," she remarked, fiddling with the string of her recurve bow that was across her front. "I've gathered the bare necessities for the journey home." Connor nodded, becoming somewhat awkward when she sat down beside him and resumed whispering in his ear. "Stop staring at the entrance like that. Make it look believable, Connor."

He was reluctant at first now that he knew who she truly was, but began to act as though he had a romantic interest in her. Having to tell him to pretend reminded her how much her rank seemed to be a constant barrier in her life. "Mithian-" She gave him a look. "Thea. What did you find out about the land around the camp?"

"Multiple exits. There's a narrow one to the east. They focus on watching the north though. For witch hunters, I expect." Snapping her head to the sound of crushing leaves, Mithian widens her eyes and looked to Connor. "Kiss me."

"What?"

Sitting in his lap she took his lips with her own and placed a hand in his dark hair and guided him. Ignoring all sound, Mithian focussed on keeping it slow and mentally telling herself that it was a genuine moment, imagining a man she'd once fancied. Connor was cooperating for the most part, but his body was tense. She couldn't blame him considering how sudden this was and with a woman who was to be his future sovereign. She didn't doubt that his mind would be very conflicted at the moment.

 _He'll give us away. Will you please relax Connor?_

There was no way she could communicate that to him and it seemed she had done herself no favour with her thoughts once again. Panicked for a moment when he almost broke the kiss she pretended to rise and adjust herself, bringing him closer with a guiding hand. Something about him changed after a few seconds, Connor was no longer the stiff piece of wood he'd been in the beginning and brought his hand into her hair, lightly massaging her head with his fingers. Glad he was finally playing the part of a lover properly, Mithian gave him feedback the only way she could with a pleased hum.

His ministrations were making her dizzy and determined not to be the only one enjoying herself, she proceeded to run her fingers firmly along his back, electing a sigh from him. She didn't know if it was real but told herself that it was. Letting her hands roam and losing herself in the heated session, a niggling thought came to the forefront of her mind and although she tried to fight it, a tear escaped and she resisted wiping it away. Her back was to the entrance, but when she felt a thumb wipe her cheek she realised she'd closed her eyes.

Opening them, she looked into his and saw the question within. _Are you afraid?_

Shaking her head, another tear escaped when she inadvertently thought about the real reason. Resting her forehead against his and focusing with all she had not to let another one escape. They remained this way briefly when Connor ran a finger down by her eye repeatedly, drawing her attention. He seemed hesitant at first but cupped her cheek gently with his coarse hand, proceeding to peck lightly and rub her back. Strangely it seemed to comfort her and she simply held his shoulders softly while returning the kiss, her mind blank as she thought about nothing but Connor's tenderness.

A few minutes later she got a grip of herself and stood up, feeling embarrassed but grateful that he hadn't pushed the subject when he'd had the chance. Leaving the clearing, the pair held the pretence of a couple and proceeded to join the other followers in conversation while slathering some kind of root in a greasy solution.

The conversation between the sorcerers flowed freely, but Mithian remained focused on this strange task, mulling over her little display earlier and surprised when her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet comment. "I hope you're alright, Mithian…"

"Thank you, Connor, but I'm fine," she murmured, becoming irritated that he'd used her name in the open like that. "And what did I say about _that_ name?"

She was met with a confused expression. "I didn't say anything."

Grabbing his wrist and dragging him out of earshot. "Do not take me for a fool, Connor. I heard you say it as clear as day," she insisted, narrowing her eyes at the man lying to her. He didn't seem like he was going to talk, so instead of wasting time she left to wash her hands in the creek and knelt there wondering how she would deal with these rebels once back in the city.

 _I can't trust a man who will risk blowing my cover so easily. I'll recover the gold stolen from the villages and steal a horse once the imposter and fake knights have left._ Looking at her reflection and seeing how grimy her face was, she had to resist cleaning off what was protecting her identity.

"Princess Mithian."

What little decorum and patience she had left disappeared and she stormed over to Connor and delivered a hard blow to his stomach. The emotionally driven pain was once again gathering at her hip birthmark, but she ignored it as best she could.

"Do you wish death upon me?" Standing over the wide-eyed man with fury, she watched for the reply that didn't come as he remained on the ground clutching his stomach.

Instinct was telling her to put an arrow through the idiot, but logic told her that it could result in her own demise. Since being taken she'd seen enough sorcerers control objects with incantations to know it was a fight she would lose.

"Well?"

"You have magic."

"What?" Baffled by the statement she looked at him like he'd grown a second head. "You spout nonsense, Connor," replied the vexed princess, turning away to leave but looking back at the sound of moving pebbles when the man sat up.

" _You told me to relax in the clearing,"_ Connor's voice replied but the man's lips hadn't moved. _"And you were planning to get the villagers' gold and steal a horse not a moment ago. Very admirable. You have magic, Mithian Duranhelm."_

Eyes wide and hands shaking despite her best efforts Mithian felt as though she was frozen in place. She hadn't spoken either of those things.

 _I don't. Never have. It's impossible!_

Connor slowly got to his feet, risking a swift kick in the ribs, but Mithian was too shaken to even think about it. Continuing his rise, the brunette offered his hand with a sympathetic smile. "You're not the first to come into magic late, Thea. Come here." She didn't take the hand and only backed away. He looked a little sad at the rejection to magic but remained where he was. "If I can hear you, others can too. We have to get you out of here before you're discovered."

Nodding numbly she knew he was speaking the truth and it was dangerous if she was to remain here any longer. This new revelation was a difficult potion to swallow, so she decided to pretend she believed him for the time being. "And my thoughts?"

"Imagine your mind is inside a locked chest. You will still hear others if they want you to though."

Taking a shaky breath, Mithian took his hand and visualised her mind contained inside a chest, nodding to Connor and taking his hand. Her world had been tipped upside down and now of all times, she needs to be completely focused. Looking forward and remembering that the leaders should be gone by now she breathed a little easier. Recalling where she'd stashed her supplies for the journey home, Mithian walked subtly across the camp towards her hidden bags, occasionally glancing at the imposter's tent once Connor had gone inside. Slipping into the eastern exit and staying out of sight, she waited for Connor to appear with the gold. And waited.

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Finally, they were at the end of their journey, but yet to see the village where the evil sorcerer had been sighted. Looking to the soldier, Samuel, Arthur noticed the man becoming restless in his saddle and rode up beside the man. "Samuel, what is it?"

"It's quiet, Sire. Too quiet..."

Remaining hopeful he took note that there was still a small distance left. "We're not there yet man. Why would you expect villagers out here?"

"Children normally play here, and the captain always sends one of us to watch them," Samuel remarked, combing the area with his eyes.

Not wasting a moment, Arthur urged his stead on and was determined not to fail his people. Behind him, the knights followed, but it was Samuel who broke formation and went ahead before charging out of sight. Maintaining his speed, Arthur came to regret that decision when the beginning of smoke came into view upon reaching the crest overlooking Nefeir.

The village was on fire. Villagers fighting, fleeing and small children screaming. Bandits cutting down the garrison, raiding cottages, the granary, and taking pleasure in terrorising the women. Arthur looked to his knights and could see the fury that he felt. "For the love of Camelot!"

"For the love of Camelot!"

Charging down the hill and fanning out, Arthur shouted out to Samuel who wasn't far away. "Where's the sorcerer!"

"I don't see him!"

 _Blast_

Choosing his man, the king rode straight for a bandit who'd dragged a woman by the hair and just knocked her onto her back. Giving the savage no warning, he reared his horse and knocked the bandit down, giving him a moment to dismount his stead and draw his sword.

The bandit was fast but not fast enough to be a challenge for the king, and soon the bastard of a man was disposed of. Turning to the others he saw that the fall of one man brought three more upon him, and once Arthur identified the weakest, the king ends its miserable life.

The moves were instinctive, muscle memory from years of training. Training for this. To protect his people from the low lives determined to take what was not theirs and live by the sweat of the brow of others.

Everything was a blur. All sounds were jumbled together. All that was clear was his sword and swords coming towards him.

Occasionally he would distinguish the sounds of his men, but only briefly before having to counter and fight another bandit.

This went on for some time, and being outnumbered so greatly didn't come without its toll. There were a few nicks from his foes' weapons where his armour was weakest, but they weren't anything worthy of attention.

He let out a breath now that it was becoming easier, his attention to things around him aside from swords returned, and he immediately gave aid to a family with their oldest child trapped under a collapsed cottage. The skirmish's tide was turning, offering Arthur a little reprieve to catch his breath before needing all he had once more.

Too soon upon freeing the child, he was forced onto the defensive so he could protect the same family from bandits hoping to catch him off guard. With the closest attacker dispatched for the moment, the king took note of his knights and saw they were handling themselves well.

Leon was favouring his left side slightly but otherwise fought like any other man. Elyan was a little slower than normal, but that was to be expected after last night's utter lack of sleep. Percival bore a few cuts on his upper arm, but nothing more. Gwaine was more energetic than the others and strangely fighting in casual clothing instead of armour, consequently a little more bloody than the other three.

Surprised that Gwaine was even here, Arthur wondered at the addition of his knight but didn't have much of a chance to ponder further when a coward tried to take him from behind. Drawn back into the heat of battle, he continued to cut them down and progressed outwards until he was on the fringes of Nefeir when a large cottage half collapsed and caught on fire, several villagers clamouring to put it out.

A child's tortured screams could be heard from inside the flaming cottage, the fire becoming larger as more wood dried out and fuelled it.

"Merlin! No! It's too late!" Gwaine shouted from where he was still fighting a bandit.

Snapping his head in the direction of Gwaine, Arthur spotted Merlin charging into the fire and quickly engulfed by the flames. He heard him grunting as the fire no doubt was licking away at his skin.

 _Merlin!_

Slaying his foe, Arthur grabbed a bucket by the well and proceeded to throw water onto the fire, hoping to put it out. One by one as they defeated the last of the bandits, the knights including Gwaine joined his efforts, racing back and forth in hope of saving both Merlin and the child. A genuine shout of pain that could only be Merlin, burnt itself into his mind, making the situation seem more real than it already did.

There was a heavy gust of wind, and something within the flames snapped soundly making the fire grow threefold without going back down. The child's cries had ceased but there was no sign of either man or child.

 _No…_

Something broke inside of him. A tsunami of denial washed through his mind, adrenaline driving him to work harder, run faster.

Bucket after bucket and the flames were slowly dying, but too slowly for his liking. His eyes were fixated on the fire trying to find any clue of Merlin with each bucket he emptied but to no avail.

"That's the last of it," a woman told him sadly, handing him the final bucket.

Not caring about what she said, he charged over and threw it onto the dying fire.

With no more water and no other source nearby, Arthur's muscles were coiled tight with desperation, the grip on his hilt burning his hand slightly from the heat it was exposed to, but it hardly mattered to him.

Dropping to his knees in front of the cottage's remains, his eyes combed the area for anything of Merlin, but all was black ash with not a body of Merlin in sight…or the child.

"No." The layer of ash would be stuck in his memory forever. "Merlin, you idiot. Why?"

 _He never came out._

"Sire?" someone asked, clasping his shoulder for a moment.

"Leave me."

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Stepping back from the king, Gwaine went over to Benjamin and Orla, whose faces were full of guilt at the sight of their mourning king. He watched on as Arthur rose shakily but remained in front of the ashes in silence. The couple looked to him in confusion. "Merlin was his manservant going on five years, but I didn't think he valued the man so much. But he can't know." The pair nodded in understanding, their little ones looked confused.

One look at the remains of Nefeir and Gwaine made his decision easily "Ben, Nefeir is gone. Go to Riverside to the east and rebuild your lives there. It's better protected and bandits are a scant thing. If I know my friend your daughter will be in the woods with him. Take the others with you."

Turning back to the king, he seemed so broken by what he'd seen and Gwaine's fellow knights were in a similar state, but none were as torn as Arthur.

Seeing Arthur like that made Gwaine want to speak up and end his misery, but he couldn't. The only explanation for Merlin's survival was magic and he didn't doubt his best friend had used it to escape with Benjamin's daughter. Being honest would only stain their memories with hate for a selfless man.

 _Maybe...maybe it's for the best..._

Walking up to the ashes, Gwaine drew his sword and wiped the blood and dirt off until it was shining proudly in the sunlight once more. He didn't have a choice in the matter, for what he was about to do was what he would have done if Merlin had truly died.

"Sire," he addressed, garnering no reaction, but knowing the other knights were listening. "I tender my resignation." Plunging the blade commissioned to him upon knighthood into the ashes, he stepped back, bowing his head. "Rest in peace, Merlin."

Giving it a few moments and remembering what life in Camelot used to be like and could never be again, Gwaine turned away and nodded to Leon, Elyan and Percival, before walking away from it all.

"Gwaine," Percival muttered, clasping his shoulder and stopping him in his tracks. "Merlin was the only reason, wasn't he?"

"You're a good friend, Perce, and may we meet again," he remarked, clasping the man's shoulder in return. "Take care of yourselves."

Returning to the campsite, Gwaine found Gilli watching Nefeir from the top of a sturdy tree while Aithusa was asleep where he'd left her some time ago. Kneeling down beside her he hesitated for a moment. "Aithusa.…"

Blinking for a moment, the hatchling became aware and rose onto all fours, scanning the area for someone. "Where's Merlin? I heard his pain, but his mind disappeared before I could help."

"He's fine, Aithusa, but you need to hide. Arthur and his knights are a stone's throw away from here," he warned her, backing away a little so to give her space. "They're distracted for now, so now's a better time than any."

With a grateful nod, she wandered over to a spacious area and opened her dirtied wings, testing them with a few flaps. "Thank you, Sir Gwaine."

 _Not anymore._

Shaking the thought off, he went over to the horses and untied his original sword from the saddlebag, sliding it into his empty sheath. At the sound of a rustle above he glanced up and witnessed Gilli calmly dropping out of a tree. "We have to get you out of here, Gilli. You're still a fugitive, no matter that you're innocent," Gwaine pointed out while loading his horse with the abandoned bedroll amongst other things. "Where's Merlin?"

"He was here with Ben's daughter until Ben and Orla passed through," the warlock replied, joining him in packing up for whatever journey was ahead of them. "They asked him about the king, saying Arthur thought he was dead." Gilli mounted his horse and led the way east, Gwaine riding beside him once they passed the tree line and on open land once more. "Merlin was in a right state and left. No idea where. Just said he needed to talk to someone and teleported away."

Riding for the southern border and expecting to reach it within a day, Gwaine groaned when he realised the answer. "He's in Camelot."

There was nothing that he could do, but accompany Gilli to a safe haven. Merlin was three days of steady riding away and by the time he reached the city chances were Merlin would be gone or hiding. If he chose to leave, Gwaine would have no idea where he would go in this situation, Ealdor maybe, but something was telling him that that wasn't the answer. Increasing his speed and continuing their ride to the south towards the Labyrinth of Gedref, Gwaine could only hope Merlin wouldn't get himself into trouble. But he doubted it. Sighing Gwaine focused on the path ahead, determined to catch up with his friend once Gilli was across the Camelot-Meredor border of Odin's lands.

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It had been a few years since he last visited this place, for he had had no reason to. Inside the cool dark place of what once was Kilgharrah's prison, Merlin stood on the ledge with the words to summon Kilgharrah on his lips but hesitated.

 _Talking to Kilgharrah only results in a headache. And it_ is _around noon, perhaps Gaius will be in his chambers?_

Turning around with his mind made up, Merlin went to open the metal door but stopped short when he realised that Arthur was likely to return here and announce his 'death.' Palming his face and sliding down against the door he looked up to the cavern ceiling and wondered how he could have been so careless. The daughter of Gilli's friend was alive and recovering, he'd gotten her out of the burning cottage, but now everyone thought he had perished in that fire. The burn on his arm had made him cry out, likely convincing them further that he had died there.

 _Not everyone. I have to tell Gaius. I couldn't leave him to think I'm dead._

Rising to his feet and embracing his magic, Merlin incanted the words he'd spoken twice today already and visualised his chambers. It was a risky move, but going from the cavern of Kilgharrah's former prison to Gaius' chambers was more likely to get him seen. They didn't know he was 'dead' yet, but word was bound to reach Camelot in a few days, and if he was spotted, word would reach Arthur and he would have many questions to answer. Some of them he wasn't sure he'd ever divulge without force.

Blinking away the sudden change in lighting, he made a grim smile and hastened to close the door to Gaius' chambers. He remained quiet within his own, seated on the sagging bed and kneading his fingers together, shooting glances at the closed door.

 _What will I do once I tell him?_

He could hear someone moving around in the other room, but it took hardly a moment to recognise the shuffle of Gaius' steps. Fighting the urge to rush in there and talk to his mentor, Merlin knew inside that it could be his undoing if someone was with the aged physician. Not a sound was made within his chambers as he waited for confirmation that his father figure was alone, and he didn't wait for a second longer than absolutely necessary. Jumping up and opening the door Merlin made himself known. "Gaius!"

"Merlin? What- Is something wrong?" the man asked attentively, abandoning his concoction on the workbench and coming over. "What were you doing in there?"

"Gaius, I-."

 _What do I say?_

"Something's happened. In Nefeir I saved a girl from a burning cottage and I had to use magic to escape-."

Gaius's face was awash with concern, taking hold of Merlin's elbows and guiding him to the table. "Were you seen?"

Shaking his head, Merlin looked to Gaius, hoping he might have a solution to all of this. "No, but I didn't…Arthur was there, Gaius. He thinks I'm dead. So do the knights. Leon, Elyan, and Percival. I have to protect Arthur but.…"

Gaius looked at the ceiling as though asking the triple goddess for guidance before turning his pale blue eyes to Merlin. "If Arthur sees you, Merlin, he will not believe who you are. Unless you are ready to tell him about your magic, you will have to trust others to help you."

"But who?"

His mentor didn't have an answer to that, but stood up and rested a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I don't know, my boy, but you can't be seen here. You know I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't believe it was absolutely necessary." Rising from the bench, Merlin glumly nodded and could see the unspoken words of caution.

"Look after yourself, Gaius."

"I promise, Merlin."

Taking a step back, he gave Gaius a final nod and returned to his chambers, lifting the floorboards to reveal his book of magic, the dragon carving from his father and the Sidhe staff he hadn't touched in years. Once it was packed and the wooden planks were back in place Merlin teleported back to the dark cold cavern.

 _I don't know what...Kilgharrah isn't going to like this..._

Thinking of the bronze dragon Merlin took a short breath and braced himself for what was to come. " _O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!"_

Merlin stood on that ledge and waited, wondering how he could fulfil his destiny now that everything he had sacrificed might be meaningless in the end. Sitting himself down on the edge, the warlock rubbed his face wearily and thinking of ways to protect the prat from afar.

It was difficult to imagine protecting Arthur by working with someone else after doing it alone for so long, but once he digested the concept Merlin realised he had a friend who could help.

 _Of course! Gilli! But...where would he and Gwaine be now?_

A gush of wind broke his thoughts and looking up he saw Kilgharrah land on the perch close by, bringing up memories of past talks here. "Of all places to summon me, Merlin, this is the last I would have expected."

"It's not my first choice," Merlin remarked, scratching the back of his neck.

The torch in the bracket by the door crackled and came alight, with no effort on Merlin's part. Turning back to the dragon he saw the satisfaction in its eye but didn't comment on it.

Kilgharrah blinked once before adjusting himself on the rock. "You are quiet, Young Warlock. I have to say this is certainly a new development."

"Arthur thinks I'm dead," he blurted out, feeling the air whoosh out of his body. Kilgharrah looked amused but said nothing. "I didn't know he was there. I could hear a child screaming within a burning cottage and I ran in, using magic to escape. It was later that I was told Arthur thought I'd died in that fire."

"One would say it was an almost fitting story, but we have greater things to discuss." The dragon straightened himself and leant forward. "I have told you once before; Without you, Arthur will never succeed, without you, there will be no Albion." Kilgharrah was solemn and observing Merlin with a keen eye when he snapped his head towards the entrance.

"You're all doom and gloom, aren't you, Kilgharrah? Personally, I think Arthur's had his chance," argued Aithusa, coming into sight and landing by Merlin's side thanks to her smaller size. "You've been doing this for nearly five years, Merlin, don't you think it's time to try somewhere else?" Aithusa wasn't staring at him expectantly like Kilgharrah, instead, she raised an eye at her elder. "Your idea isn't working, so why should Merlin keep doing it?"

It was clear this was something that'd been on Aithusa's mind for some time now, and with no solid answer to calm the hatchling down, Merlin remained silent and listened.

"Arthur is the Once and Future-"

Aithusa wasn't having any of Kilgharrah's prophetic quotes. "Drop the babble, Kilgharrah, and give me a real reason."

"It has been foreseen, Young Dragon, and seers do not witness false futures. It will come about, Aithusa. Do not doubt it."

" _One_ of many futures. And I've said the same to Mordred," Aithusa retorted hotly.

 _Mordred? Aithusa's been talking to Mordred? Why?_

"You meddle with what you do not know, Hatchling."

"You are condemning him to death. And for what? A prophecy? You've been trying to kill him this past week."

"He is destined to murder the Once and Future King who will unite the land of Albion. It would destroy any hope there is for magic."

"Do you hear yourself? You're prepared to murder in cold blood, and trying to make Merlin do the same!"

As he listened to the heated argument between the pair, Merlin began to wonder if Aithusa had a point. For every question asked by Aithusa, there were only foretellings to answer with. The white dragon he'd hatched was beginning to remind him of himself many years ago.

 _There must be another way. The future isn't set in stone!_ He'd replied to Kilgharrah once.

Sighing while the conversation progressively got louder, Merlin fought against the niggling feeling that perhaps...perhaps Aithusa was right and he'd been blinded by promises all those years. Shifting his weight, burying his hands in his pockets, he dropped his gaze to the stone ledge, the dragonlord's beliefs and logic warred within his mind.

 _Arthur seeks peace with the other kingdoms. He_ is _the Once and Future King._

 _Any king would want peace unless you're Alined. Why is he special?_ The voice of his logic almost sounded like Aithusa and echoed her attitude towards Arthur.

 _He's left the druids in peace._

 _Because of his own guilt._

 _He's moving in the right direction. Magic will be free in time._

 _Will it?_ Questioned his logical side. _What proof do you have? You've spent half a decade with the same goal about Arthur. Did he ever show interest in freeing magic?_

 _Twice, but they don't matter now._

 _Because he is not ready to let go of his preconceptions. He may never let go of them._

 _Who else is there? Who could possibly see magic isn't evil and in a position to free my kind?_

 _You've already met them, albeit briefly._

 _But who?_

 _Any ruler without the last name 'Pendragon'._

 _I don't need cryptic answers right now…_

 _Merlin! Think for yourself and forget about the prophecies!_

"-MERLIN WILL FAIL IF HE DOESN'T TRY SOMEONE ELSE!" Aithusa bellowed, her voice echoing off the cavern walls with clarity.

Snapping his head up, he turned to see the pair of dragons glaring at one another and neither of them looking ready to back down, Merlin interrupted. "Enough! You are better than this. Both of you."

The dragons looked to him as those they'd forgotten he was there, Aithusa looked abashed while Kilgharrah had no expression of regret. The cavern was silent in stark constant to just moments ago, both dragons looking to their lord for him to continue. "He's my friend. I won't just abandon him."

Aithusa sighed with a shake of her head and looking up to her dragonlord. "Merlin, you can't stay. You know this," she pointed out with soft eyes before she bumped his side. "Tysun and I are already protecting Arthur, so if you feel he _is_ the one to free magic, you can come back and tell him about yours. He won't accept you're alive unless you do."

Looking to Kilgharrah for his final word on the situation, Merlin saw the bronze dragon straighten himself and look down from his great height. "You know where I stand on this subject, Merlin. The fate of your destiny will be decided by your next action."

The weight upon his shoulder was immense and unable to come to a conclusion without thoroughly thinking it through, he nodded thanks to the dragons who took their leave. Sitting down on the edge, the young warlock kneaded his hands together and sighed, a headache beginning to develop as he went over the current choices before him.

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She stirred from her rest and saw the same thing she'd been seeing for such a long time that Morgana had lost count of the days. Or not seeing, rather. Her captors came with food on the rare occasion, barely enough to keep her alive in this dark, damp hole which reeked of filth. Well, allegedly reeked of filth. Originally she'd been capable of smelling it, but she'd been imprisoned here for so long that her nose had learnt to block out the smell. The men who came with the bare essentials for her to merely survive in this hell on earth were stunned and jerked their heads away each time as though they'd been struck when they removed the slab of stone which denied her of any light.

In the beginning she'd raged profanities at them vocally and within her mind; swearing to make them suffer, but over time she'd learnt to conserve her strength for the lack of proper food and care began to affect her health, and when the only sound you hear is your own voice what is the point of using it? Underneath her was a layer of rocks, giving her no reprieve as the weight of them was too much for her to move them to one side. Over time she had found the most comfortable place and position, but even then the coarseness of them filed away at her skin, resulting in it losing all of it original smoothness as it toughened to endure the aggravation the rocks caused.

There were no animals in this hole and that was one thing she was thankful for, but at the same time hated. The utter solitude, silence and the pitch black darkness were maddening as she could do nothing other than the poor excuse of merely existing and the world, aside from her captors, completely ignorant of her current manner of living. Had a blade been left down in this stinking hole she wouldn't have used it even if she could move her hands. She wouldn't have given those pigs the satisfaction of knowing this cell, despite the fact that it was, was torturous enough to drive her into suicide.

 _But I wouldn't have done so if it had been an option. I will wait for one of the men to make a mistake, spend enough time to recover before exacting her revenge on them._

Morgana felt weak these days and just allowed her hands to hang by the chain from the wall to save what little energy her scraps of food had to offer. So much so that she paid little attention at the continual damage and minor tears those animals did to her dress each time they came with minuscule food, for what did the state of her dress matter when she was concealed from the world? As long as it did its job she had little reason to care for it as she would have in the past.

Sleep provided her with very little relief from the solitude within this darkness as memories of the past burned brightly behind her eyes; replaying the abandonment and betrayal others had subjected her to; the rejection society held towards her kind.

 _Within the Physician's chambers in Camelot on a starless night, a younger version of herself in her white night-dress was talking to Merlin in a scared manner. It was the night after her magic had blown the window of her chambers outwards and lit the curtains of her chambers on fire. "I don't understand anything anymore, I need to know what's happening… It's magic, Merlin." She'd said in fear when her magic had begun to surface._

 _"You can trust me, Morgana. You know you can," he'd replied trying to appease her fears._

 _His words had little effect on her "I'm scared, Merlin," Morgana had confided in him. In the dim light of the limited number of candles within the room. The sparse furniture all made of old wood and the chambers lacked any form of decoration against the stone walls._

 _Oh, how he had lied to me…and if I ever get out of this miserable place I will make him pay… Greatly._

 _Down in the catacombs underneath the castle of Camelot, as the fighting of soldiers above could be heard, Merlin and Morgana were having a confrontation as she blocked his path to destroying the staff that raised the dead to fight the Camelot knights. Merlin was in his threadbare clothes and neckerchief as usual while she was wearing armour with the exception of a helmet as she was ready to defend the staff at all costs._

 _"I have magic, Merlin. Uther hates me and everyone like me. Why should I feel any differently about him?!" Morgana stressed angrily as she advanced towards him, sword at the ready should he make a move._

 _"You of all people could change Uther's mind, but doing this, using magic like this will only harden his heart!" Merlin countered as he stood somewhat visible in the darkness, the sweat on his face making his pale complexion shine in the minimal light._

 _I'd seen the shattered state of his heart when I'd overthrown him. It brought pleasure to me to know he suffered at the knowledge of my utter hatred for the monstrosity that he was. A monster now dead at my hand._

There'd be a short time where she'd held hope that there'd be some kind of acceptance, but even a creature of magic left her at the hands of the swine who held her here. A white dragon saved her from bleeding to death in a forest, and for a time she'd thought she'd found a kindred spirit, but at the sight of bandits it had fled and abandoned what she had thought to have been some form of friendship.

 _Could anyone show some honesty? Or was it too much to ask?_

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That night in the privacy of the royal chambers, Gwen was reading the reports on Camelot and the surrounding kingdoms when there was a hurried knock on the door.

Feeling a shiver run done her spine the queen rose from her seat and looking at the bed for a moment, she approached the fireplace and threw another piece of wood into the hearth. "Come in."

After a moment a wiry man entered the room dressed in furs with a satchel slung across his body. "Your Highness," he spoke tiredly, giving her a short bow. "I apologise for this late hour, but I bear a letter from King Lot of Essetir. The king instructed me to deliver it with haste."

"Of course," she replied kindly, seeing the fatigue on the man's face. "You've come a long way," Gwen began before realising she didn't have the courier's name.

There was a moment of silence before he spoke. "Ian, Queen Guinevere."

"Ian," she repeated, receiving a nod from the slim man. "I'm sure I could ask someone to prepare a room for you." But the offer was turned down by a polite shake of Ian's head.

"Very kind of you, Your Highness, but I must continue."

Bewildered that the man intended to ride in the dark of night, presumably without a knight to protect him, Gwen did the only thing she could. "Would you like an escort to the border? It is dangerous at this hour."

Ian declined her generosity once more and bid her a good night, bowing before leaving the royal chambers with swift steps. Following the man to the door, she watched him go for a moment and turned to the guards. "Did he come with any company?"

"No, Your Highness."

Closing the door with a small frown, Gwen went over to the report laden desk and retrieved her letter opener, breaking the wax seal of a serpent before sitting down. Inside the envelope was a single page, most likely a brief communique.

 _Perhaps Lot's wife just had a son. What else could be so urgent?_

 _To the King and Queen of Camelot,_

 _I hope the farming lands in your kingdom have served you well this past harvest._

 _I, King Lot, of Essetir wish to engage in negotiations within the splendour of your city._

 _Please send a response so both you and I can make preparations._

 _King Lot Hoalstrom of Essetir_

The letter was abrupt and to the point, a very different letter to those she's received from neighbouring rulers. The lords in smaller lands had a tendency to write in a manner of much flattery, while Queen Annis was pleasant but didn't waste Gwen's time. King Bayard was still bitter about the brief imprisonment five years ago and concealed it enough that Arthur didn't see it, but Gwen knew they would need to address the fellow king's displeasure sooner rather than later.

But this letter was the first they'd received from King Lot, given how frequently they'd been warring against one another during Uther's time. It was rumoured that Cenred had died at the hands of Morgause, and knowing that the witch had been Morgana's half-sister, Gwen knew she would have to tread carefully. Retrieving a fresh piece of parchment, Camelot's queen proceeded to write a draft reply to show Arthur upon his return, intent on going to bed soon after.

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	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin**

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

 _"Blah" T_ elepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

 _Blah_ Thoughts/Emphasised words

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 **A Broken Coin 1:**

Chapter 6

All was quiet within the clearing of the camp, the recruits from the villages were fast asleep, as were many of the higher ranking members of their group. Alvarr and an underling were the exceptions in the scene of peace, for they were crouched low on the steep crevice that hid their supporters from outside eyes. Down below, outside the camp, was a party of knights searching the area, for what Alvarr didn't know, but thanks to his efforts upon setting up this camp the knights were unsuccessful in finding or entering his camp. He smiled at the sight of them wasting their time.

The underling, Patrick, who'd woken him with the news of knights lurking in the area, turned to Alvarr with a furrowed expression. "What could they be looking for?"

Alvarr scowled with his eyes watching the knights like a hawk. "Us," he grounded out with a backwards glance to a particular clearing within the large and growing camp. Resting a hand on Patrick's shoulder, Alvarr got to his feet. "Stay here and watch them. I have something I need to do."

Crossing the camp until he reached the clearing branching off from the main area, Alvarr entered with an unceremonious shove of a sheet concealing what was within. Inside was a man, cuffed and restrained, his body suspended above the ground by rope from overhanging trees. Storming up and slapping the man awake, Alvarr smirked waiting for the traitor to come around.

"Are we in the talking mood this early morning?" he taunted before casting the thick cloth from their face.

The young man only spat on the ground at Alvarr's feet. "Never."

"Come now, lover boy. You wouldn't want me to pursue your girlfriend would you?" he threatened, arching an eyebrow when the man flinched. "Touched a nerve, did I? I saw how the pair of you were unable to keep your hands to yourselves yesterday," he divulged with a victorious smirk when the young man avoided eye contact. "Well, if you want her safe you will tell me something I want to know."

The brunette only glared, hatred and resentment shining clearly in his eyes. There was silence within the secluded area while Alvarr waited for the man to realise he meant business.

"No?" he questioned, dagger drawn and walking closer. "I've always found the hard way more interesting with your type. Uther's guards squealed too easily when the miserable tyrant lived."

Flipping the dagger in his hand and wandering up to the traitor's flank, he stood just behind his ear. "My mentor, before Uther sentenced him to death, was a man of many talents," Alvarr calmly spoke, dragging the flat side of the blade behind their ear. "And he passed some of them onto me." Tilting the blade, he got the desired effect.

The traitor screamed as Alvarr dragged the blade down his neck, bringing it towards his taut muscles. Pushing a little deeper when he reached them, the pitch of his scream spiked and made Alvarr smirk with satisfaction.

Tisking, the renegade smiled from where he stood. "You should cooperate, Connor," Alvarr taunted, walking into view. "Because that was just the beginning."

"You won't get anything about her out of me!" Connor vowed from where he hung, eyes shining with promise and determination.

Lifting an eyebrow at the outburst, he noticed the young man was silently scolding himself. "Oh? Special, is she? Finally willing to talk, young Connor, but I have no interest in your little lover," Alvarr informed him, spotting a flash of surprise.

 _Or perhaps I should..._

Standing there in silence and witnessing the young sorcerer grow wary, he smirked as he let him stew within the ropes for a few minutes. The man reminded him of himself when he was younger and wore his heart on his sleeve, but survival demanded he grow up and learn how to conceal his thoughts. Looking to his dagger, he recalled how the man who'd taken an orphan in had taught him how to protect himself with a dagger against swords, such as where to strike for maximum effect.

"How did the knights find us? Who have you been in contact with?" he asked coldly, pressing the chill of his dagger against a pressure point. When Connor remained silent, Alvarr broke the skin and smiled as Connor hissed in pain.

"No one," the prisoner replied with no fear or tone of regret.

Alvarr observed Connor for a moment and saw the man was intent on saying nothing more before he proceeded to resume questioning. Determined to get answers, Alvarr used his dagger as well as magic to induce pain each time the traitor refused to speak. "Giving up your life won't stop me from following her, Connor."

Within the bruised and bloodied prisoner's eye was the look of a man prepared to die. "As if giving you what you want will. You'd seek her out even if I do."

"How touching, but I'm a busy man with no time for games," he explained while slowly bringing the dagger to Connor's heart, ready to dispose of him.

His attention was drawn to the flap where Christopher, another underling, stood looking short of breath. "Sir, our queen has returned with the new recruits. She wishes to speak with you. Her Highness has news on the High Priestess."

 _The Lady Morgana. Finally._

"You may go," Alvarr dismissed the young man and turned around to Connor. "Tomorrow at dawn will be your last breath, Traitor," he coolly promised, smirking as he finished the last part. "Next time it'll be your girl we'll be discussing."

Pushing the flap aside he strode to the centre of the camp and greeted the queen with a knowing smile. The sun was beginning to creep its way into the dark camp, awakening all to the arrival of a new day.

"You have news on Morgana, my queen?" He asked, a smirk flashing across his face for a moment, which she returned.

"Indeed. Walk with me."

Striding towards the tents where the other superiors slept, Alvarr turned to 'the queen'. _"I trust you had no interruptions, Kara?"_

 _"Avoiding those knights weren't an issue."_

Smiling at their success so far, Alvarr thought back to his childhood before Uther's Great Purge. Magic coexisted and there'd been no reason to hide his gifts. A time when his parents were alive and well for their now grown-up son.

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With the sunrise was the beginning of a new day, but for some, they would have said otherwise. For the King of Camelot, it was the beginning of a time he'd have done everything humanly possible to prevent. The situation was inconceivable, but here he was living it. Saddened by the loss.

Arthur packed up silently and saw the remaining three Knights of the Round Table shared his sentiment, all of them silently packing on the hilltop.

From their campsite, Arthur watched as the sunlight touched the ashes, where Merlin had died trying to save a child from the flames. Standing upright in the ash was Gwaine's knighthood sword, the shine of the sun on metal forcing Arthur to shield his eyes.

Going down to what little was left of Nefeir without looking back, he went over to the sword and planks surrounding the ash that served as a marker of Merlin's bravery.

 _Bravery. I never said it to his face, but he was the bravest man I knew. It's only now that he's gone that I wish I had._

 _I'd been a fool to send inexperienced soldiers, and shush Guinevere when she opposed the decision in the council chambers. And now, because of me, Merlin burned in a fire to save a girl while defending a village; the cottage he'd raced into had only ruins as proof of its existence._

 _Merlin had been a loyal friend despite everything. When my spirits were down, Merlin pushed them back up; when I was hesitant to step forward, Merlin gave me that shove; when I was all but prepared to leap forward and carry out something reckless, Merlin always tried to pull me back; when I'd been angered, my friend simmered it down with words of reasoning; when the going got tough, Merlin was always there as my rock._

Whilst remembering Merlin's loyalty and utter devotion Arthur came to realise he hadn't returned the favour to Merlin. He'd always been private about his problems if he ever had any. Thinking back, he only recalled Merlin being upset for reasons that didn't mirror his a few times and Arthur had approached him to try and be of help, but it seemed that he'd been the cause of it, such as taking things a little too far between them and pouring a bucket on the man's head for humour's sake.

 _Actually…there was one time I can remember where Merlin's problem hadn't also been mine._

When William of Ealdor had sacrificed his own life to save him, Arthur hadn't been the most supportive person for Merlin as they stood by the funeral pyre. Instead of standing by Merlin's side as the body burned as he should have done, Arthur had only remained there for a moment to give his condolences before proceeding to comment on his decision of keeping Will's magic secret and remarking on its dangers.

 _Hardly the act of a friend._

Given the chance, Arthur would do anything if it meant he could have Merlin by his side again. Once in the past, he'd resorted to magic for personal matters, but that only ended in grief when the old sorcerer killed his father. Arthur would not make the same error by placing trust within a sorcerer again, for what could happen to those amongst the living if he did? Guinevere, Gaius, the knights?

The knights seemed to be giving him privacy at the moment, for which he was grateful as he thought about his past with Merlin while gathering all of the nearby stone for marking the place where Merlin had died.

Clasping his hands behind his back and looking at the ash covered dirt, he wondered if Merlin had suffocated from the smoke first and spared the brutality of fire, unlike the little girl. Hoping his death had been merciful, Arthur closed his eyes in remembrance.

The red and blue threadbare clothes; the brown leather jacket; the pale, angular face he woke to each morning and would never forget. Merlin had always been there, through thick and thin. Through the betrayal of his family, the death of his father, and his doubts of ever being a good king.

Arthur looked over the area marking Merlin's resting place and sighed, glancing at the hilt of Gwaine's sword before hearing Merlin's voice within his mind upon the memory of the three of them fleeing Jarl's stronghold before Gwaine was later knighted.

" _One more minute and you both would have been dead! Neither of you won. Your plan was a half-baked disaster and if it was not for that fire, we would all be pushing up daisies."_

"If it was not for that fire," Arthur trailed off with his fists clenched, eyes dropping to the ashes layering the burnt ground. "Why did it have to be you, Merlin?"

 _It's the duty of a knight to protect the people. Not yours, you selfless idiot._

 _"What's the life of a servant, compared to that of a prince?"_

 _You were much more than a mere servant, Merlin. So much more._

 _"I always thought, if things had been different, we would have been good friends."_

 _He knew, didn't he? He did so much for me that was beyond the call of duty, and I for him. Did he think we weren't? Did he?_

Determined to make it known that Merlin had been far more than a servant to him, Arthur proceeded to cover the ashes with the stone until the entire area was concealed. A little out of breath from the work but ignoring it, he knelt down in front of the wooden plank resting in front of Gwaine's sword and drew his dagger, carving into the plank repeatedly until the blade was dulled. Rising to his feet and stepping back, Arthur looked at his efforts with satisfaction, for the words were undeniable.

 _'Merlin, an invaluable friend who will be greatly missed and remembered._ _ **A.P.**_ _'_

Giving the site a moment of silence with his head bowed and hand shaking, Arthur paid his last respects to his deceased friend before leaving for camp, his face hardened and composure restored to that of a strong king and leader.

At the top of the hill, he looked back one final time. "Goodbye, Merlin."

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Riding across the countryside alone on a young mare, Mithian was standing up in the stirrups like a messenger, keeping a wary eye on the land around her. This wasn't part of the plan but there was no choice in the matter. Yesterday morning she'd waited for Connor to appear with the gold just outside the rebel camp, however, something had gone wrong and she would've been caught if it hadn't been for his wordless shout of pain.

She'd mounted and fled with a heavy heart that a loyal man had to be left behind, but she would have been powerless had she stayed.

 _I am not in a clear state of mind. He could have simply read my mind. I have no magic._

Mithian had spent much time upon fleeing debating with herself about whether she had magic or simply heard Connor wrong. The persistent speculation throughout the night had been no help while she attempted to sleep in her place of hiding, leaving her in a fatigued state at sunrise. One way or another she would find her answer once she returned to the city that was her home after she found the knights no doubt heading her way.

"Forgive me, Connor," she muttered to the wind, looking back in the camp's direction. "You were nothing but kind, and they could be doing anything," the princess tapered off, shaking herself out of it and focussing with narrowed eyes.

 _I won't waste your sacrifice._

Riding up to the crest of a hill, Mithian gave her horse a reprieve, jumping out of the saddle with her hand on the reins. Looking to the mare and patting her neck, the royal looked to the land around her and scanned the area for a shine produced by armour and sunlight. To her disappointment she didn't spot any and couldn't go any further either without risking the Knights of Nemeth passing her and charging into the camp, potentially harming her sympathisers by mistake.

With no way back and no way forward, she remained on the hilltop in the saddle, a recurve bow resting on her thighs and ready to fire.

 _Leofric and Richard would never forgive themselves if something happened to me. Why aren't they here?_

She gave it a little more time, but deciding that enough was enough she tied a dark blue ribbon onto the arrow shaft and fired it into a tree with the arrowhead pointing north-west to the camp. Marker in place and no time to waste, Mithian wheeled her horse around and went back the way she'd come in hope of finding the men in case she'd missed them.

 _Connor knows my true identity and believes his future queen has magic. If the rebels were to learn of it, the impact it would have on the throne would be irreversible, whether it's the truth or not._

Travelling at a fast trot and praying the horse wouldn't let her down, Mithian rode through the day's heat, ignoring the numb feeling in her legs.

Occasionally she stopped and let the horse drink its thirst, her own needs neglected. Hunger pangs began towards midday, but she continued to ride with little rest and it eventually passed. Reaching down to the mare's neck in guilt, Mithian hoped it was alright in this gruelling journey, almost thrown off when it faltered before noticeably increasing to a canter.

 _Strange...I hope she's alright._

Keeping the hand on its neck with no intention of surprising the horse again, Mithian endured the pain, glad that the bay horse kept its faster pace. The countryside flew underneath them and still no knights. Biting her lip, the princess frowned and shook her head, silencing a cry when she noticed the ache of her muscles. She kept an eye on the surrounding land in hope of change, but to no avail.

 _Where could they be? It's been at least eight leagues._

Looking ahead she recognised the rock formation of the rebel camp; approximately an hour's ride away.

 _I'm...only two leagues away? One more hour. But how? Only five hours of riding from my arrow to the camp? It took all day yesterday and from dawn to reach that hill this morning._

Stifling a yawn, Mithian raised her eyebrows before glancing at the sky, seeing it was slightly past noon. "What's wrong with me?"

Not dwelling on it and adjusting herself within the saddle, she was once again travelling at a canter, legs stiffened from the continuous riding but paid it no heed. And neither did she give the anomalies she'd been experiencing any thought. Now was not the time to be thinking about herself, the future of the throne was far more important and came first. Nemeth was in a less-than-desirable position and needed no reasons for Alined or Odin to perceive it as a weak kingdom. If that were to happen they'd engage in war; Alined was already testing her southern border, but thankfully her men were vigilant and kept the scavenger of a king's soldiers out.

 _The future queen comes first, and right now personal matters can wait. Nemeth's future must be protected._

Slowing the loyal mare to a walk as they approached the river that ran into the camp, Mithian dismounted and loosened the saddle. "Good girl," she praised with a pat on her neck, feeling as tired as the horse looked. "Thank you."

The horse nickered before proceeding to drink. Needing some water herself, she splashed her face to counter the tiredness for a little while.

Looking at her reflection, she sighed and shook her head.

 _This is stupidity. I can't go in there._

Adjusting the saddle and mounting the bay, Mithian turned away from the camp with a backwards glance, hoping that Connor would be able to escape by his own means. She was tired and had no magic, and going in there would just get her captured and potentially killed. The odds were simply not in her favour and hadn't been, to begin with. In need of shelter and close to the Camelot-Nemeth border, she made for the border village of Painswick, for there were no other means of hiding should Alvarr send anyone looking for her.

 _I'll leave Painswick on the sunrise, but for now, I need to stay out of sight._

She glanced over her shoulder and saw that the rock formation of the camp was nearly a league away. Letting out a breath, Mithian observed her surroundings and noticed a large cluster of trees not too far away, before steering the horse towards them. Riding within them would slow her down, but the cover they offered was an opportunity to travel unnoticed compared to the open countryside.

Once within them, Mithian drew an arrow from her quiver and rested it in front of her along with her bow. While she was no longer a walking target as she had been earlier, it didn't mean she could suddenly let her guard down. Woods could be used by thieves and the like to hide.

Listening for any indication of strangers, she found herself alone here. "Come on," she muttered to the horse, urging it to pick up the pace with a little nudging from her boots.

In front of her but far enough that they didn't see her; Mithian heard the crunching of leaves and quickly abandoned the horse. It would be useless should those ahead be of the less savoury sort. With cautious footing and her arrow nocked, she used the shadows to help her slip away perpendicular to the horse.

"We ought to be far enough," commented a young man, followed by the thudding of boots on the leafy floor.

Seeking a vantage point, Mithian spotted a ledge and immediately climbed it until she could see what was below without them seeing her.

There were two men with horses. They were roughly the same age and didn't have the mismatching armour she'd learned to associate with bandits. Not letting that lower her guard she stood with her bow at the ready and continued to observe.

The older of the two chuckled, shoulder length hair moving away from his face and giving her a better look. "I thought you would have known that a while ago, mate." Something about him seemed familiar, but different at the same time.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" retorted the younger and short-cropped brunette, adjusting his hold on the reins while giving the other a glare.

Leaning a little closer, she raised her eyebrows when one of them smirked like he didn't have a care in the world.

 _Him…What is_ he _doing here? Don't you have somewhere to be indeed?_

She noticed the pull on her bowstring had subconsciously become stronger, and carefully brought it back to where it had been before she accidentally shot him. As appealing as it was upon seeing that same smirk as the time he'd barged in on her bathing. He'd had the gall to remain there and attempt flirting with her.

 _I thought I'd never have to see his face again. If I ever hear that Gwaine bragged about it, I_ may _just shoot him._

Now aware that she wasn't in any immediate danger, she climbed down from the ledge and slowly approached the pair but stayed out of sight just as the stranger was looking alarmed and bemused. "What have you done to make a woman want to shoot you, Gwaine?"

 _My thoughts! Damn it._

Remembering Connor's advice on concealing her thoughts, she edged closer and watched them.

"What?" Gwaine asked bewildered but looking very humoured. "Well, there was that one time with twins. Another with the last woman you'd guess," he rattled off with the ghost of a laugh. "Wait. I haven't told you about those. Great stories, Gilli. You'll love them."

Emerging from behind her cover with her bow hanging at her side, Mithian concealed her simmering anger towards Gwaine. "Good afternoon, Sir Gwaine," she greeted formally before putting her feelings aside and turning to Gilli. 'Gilli' had his sword lowered, and blinked before sheathing his weapon. "Gilli, I believe?" Gilli nodded in confirmation with confusion but stared at her with no clue of who she was.

Gwaine on the other hand only smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "Hello, Princess. What are you do out here all on your lonesome?"

 _I might as well make use of them. Three is better than one._

Whistling for her horse, Mithian could hear her hooves crushing the leaves and turned back to the pair. "Here and now is not the time to discuss it, but I need your help." Gwaine and Gilli exchanged looks, turning back when her horse came into view. Taking hold of the reins and mounting the bay, she looked to the two and made note of Gwaine's missing armour. "I imagine you have an interesting story of your own, Sir Gwaine. Will the two of you be accompanying me?"

Gilli shrugged nonchalantly. "Yes, Your Highness. It's not like I can go anywhere else." Mounting his own horse, the young man glanced at Gwaine expectantly.

 _Banishment?_

The knight was holding the reins of his mare, tilting his head to the side. "What are you running from, Princess?"

Rolling her eyes she decided to get it over with. "Magical renegades," she replied bluntly, watching him raise his eyebrows where he stood. "Are you coming, Sir Gwaine? I cannot dally further." Instead of an answer, Gwaine looked to Gilli and raised an eyebrow at the peasant, whose gaze hesitantly flicked to her. Seeing that this was getting nowhere, Mithian turned to Gilli. "Shall we go?"

"Um, sure."

Heading for Painswick through the remainder of the woods, she kept an alert eye and an arrow ready.

" _He honestly can't be expecting me to do it,"_ Gilli complained from beside her.

Scanning their surroundings, and aware of Gwaine riding behind them she glanced at Gilli. "Expect you to do what?"

"Princess, are you alright? Gilli didn't say anything," the knight interrupted, coming up to her other side once they were on open countryside and Painswick's hovels visible in the distance.

Her curiosity piqued and she turned in her saddle to Gilli, who had a wary and watchful expression. "The last couple of days have been demanding, Sir Gwaine. I imagine I'm a little taxed at the moment." She'd experienced a similar experience before with Connor but had no intention of testing her theory. She'd been trying to hide it since the beginning and had no plan of stopping now. Keeping her sight on the open land she took a moment to look behind them, but thankfully there weren't any pursuers in sight. Bringing her horse to a trot and the two men matching her, Mithian ignored Gilli's expression and focussed on Gwaine. "Tell me. What's a knight of Camelot doing in my father's kingdom?"

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With Princess Mithian to his right and Gwaine riding on the other side of her, Gilli could only stare at the royal between them. Thankfully Gwaine was keeping her too occupied to think about what he thought just happened.

 _It's impossible._

"I resigned," Gwaine explained plainly, turning his head towards the village at the sound of cattle. There was still a way to go yet, but the confirmation that they were almost there made Gilli feel a sense of relief and be able to look away.

He heard the pull of a bow and whipped around in the saddle to see it was Mithian, the woman letting out a breath and lowering her bow, her back loosening as she did so. "A trick of the light. I apologise."

Watching her carefully, Gilli could see the well-masked fatigue in her form, the tension around her eyes as she scanned their surroundings. An idea played within his mind so he could get to the bottom of what's happened. Weighing his options, the warlock didn't have a lot to lose, for he'd already been chased out of his home and no living family to speak of.

It took a few breathes for him to actually do it, but eventually, he did. _"And you were going to marry Arthur Pendragon. Sounds stupid for a person like you."_

There was a brief intake of breath from Mithian, who slowly released it with pained eyes. The princess looked down to her saddle before returning her gaze to the open countryside, surveying the land for enemies.

Gilli bit lip becoming restless as the ride continued. If she'd heard him, he honestly expected a big reaction given how close she'd been to marrying King Arthur.

Mentally racking his brain for something else to say, he remembered a woman's voice threatening to shoot Gwaine for bragging. With new material, Gilli eyeballed her. _"He told me the story. He was drunk."_

There was a flash of anger in her eyes, the grip on the bow tightened, her back straightened, red gathered in her cheeks.

 _Goddess..._

Struggling to take his eyes off her, Gilli witnessed her eyes return to the façade of a calm princess with the exception of her bow's tension. He glanced over to Gwaine who had no idea of what his friend had just done to madden Princess Mithian. _"I lied. He hasn't breathed a word of…whatever happened."_

" _So you know."_ Her body language returned to the fatigued manner it'd been before, but with the addition of defeat. _"I suppose it was only a matter of time."_

That remark piqued his interest. _"The renegades don't?"_ Keeping his eyes on the surroundings he saw they weren't far from Painswick.

" _No,"_ she replied, drawing his attention back. _"Only you and Connor."_

Gilli blinked in surprise at the name of a stranger. _"Connor?"_ the warlock repeated, glancing her way and saw her sad expression. _"Sounds like someone important to you."_

She looked away and rested her hands on the saddle. _"He's a sorcerer who helped me escape the rebel camp."_ He went to comment when she spoke again. _"They're probably torturing him for information."_

Sitting back in the saddle a bit, Gilli noticed Gwaine glance his way curiously, but with an expression of 'What?' Gwaine soon rode ahead towards the village. _"He'll break eventually. If he's alive."_

" _I know,"_ the princess confirmed, letting out a heavy sign. _"And there's nothing I can do about it."_

The lie made him swivel in the saddle and glare at her with narrowed eyes. _"So you're just going to let him die?"_

" _It's not like I have a choice, Gilli!"_ she shot back torn and her voice heavy with guilt.

" _That's horse dung! You have magic for goodness sake! Use it!"_

" _I'm too weak. All I can do is telepathy."_

Baulking at the new information about this princess, Gilli swallowed and looked down. _"I'm sorry."_

Mithian shook her head before turning her attention to Painswick and making the bay quicken. _"Going back would just waste his sacrifice. I will honour it."_

" _How far are we?"_ Gilli asked, looking over his shoulder and seeing there was mainly trees in the distance and a large protrusion on the horizon behind the woods.

" _To the south-west, there's a jutted rock formation. The rebels are there, and so is Connor."_

Looking to the princess he began to gather the facts. A princess with magic fled from a camp full of her kin. She has a sorcerer friend there who's going to die. Something didn't seem right about this. When you're with your own kind you should feel safe, not the need to have a weapon at the ready to shoot one of them. She hadn't tried to shoot him so what was the difference?

 _Does she plan to free magic in the future? Or live in hiding forever?_

"Why did you flee the camp?"

The princess stared at him for a moment but soon had the façade that seemed second nature to her. "The people in charge forcefully took anyone with magic away from their homes. I can only imagine violence won't be far behind." Dismounting her bay horse and tying it to a sturdy trunk, Gilli did the same. "To the rebels, I am 'Thea'. I'd appreciate if you could do the same around these villagers."

Searching for Gwaine and spotting him talking to a young woman with that flirtatious smile, Gilli relaxed his guard and stopped Mithian while they still had privacy. "What are your plans for the future? For magic?"

She brought her hands to her face, running them through her hair. "I'm still adjusting to all of this, Gilli. Yesterday I was just a princess. Today...today I'm a witch. Albeit a weak one."

"You've just come into it. Don't assume you're weak yet," Gilli reassured, but keeping his mind on the topic. "But before today. What were your plans for magic?"

She didn't hesitate and looked him straight in the eye. "Freedom. With minimal violence and death," she answered with a determination that made him smile a little. "Only a thief or murderer should have to hide."

Sitting himself down on a tree stump, Gilli leant forward and watched Mithian restlessly survey their surroundings. "But you were going to marry a king against magic not too long ago," he reminded her with a raised eyebrow. She blinked once but otherwise didn't react. "And how do you intend to make us free if you're allied with said king?"

Mithian lightly sighed and looked down for she was still standing. "I don't know about the past, but for the future, once I am queen I will give the King of Camelot an ultimatum. Camelot Alliance be damned." Straightening himself, Gilli stood up and walked over.

"You would cast it aside just like that?"

He expected an immediate nod or shake of her head, and became doubtful when she didn't. "Nemeth is a small kingdom," she replied, taking her gaze away from the countryside and turning it to him. "I'd ally myself with King Lot first. He would no doubt present me with the same choice as I will to Arthur. Lot already supports magic, and I will need an ally should war break out."

Looking to Nemeth's future queen, Gilli didn't say anything straight away. Instead, the warlock looked at Mithian with a critical eye and crossed his arms where he stood. The tone of her voice had been of one with true intention, and for that to be combined with the subject of magic made him wary. It was good to see the woman had a decent head on her shoulders about the situation though. Gilli was well aware how Morgana had let her emotions control her decisions, only to result in disaster and giving magic a reputation worse than it already had. A future ruler with their head on their shoulders and the intent to free magic was something unheard of, and he didn't know what to think about it just yet. Glancing down at his sword's hilt, an idea came to him.

"Would you swear it?"

The princess nodded and looked to see if anyone was watching before she smiled. Taking out a silver necklace containing a light blue stone, Mithian held it in one hand as she stared into his eyes. "I, Mithian Duranhelm, swear on my honour to free magic upon my ascension."

It was close, but that hadn't been what he wanted. "That's not enough. Anyone can lie."

Mithian frowned, tucking her necklace within her shirt before looking back, becoming apprehensive and her eyes watchful. "What would be?"

 _She seems to have an idea of what I want. But will she?_

Reaching out expectantly, he witnessed her backing away by a half step. "Give me your hand."

Granting him his request, the royal stepped forward with her eyes becoming alarmed as he drew the sword from its sheath. "What are you doing?" He didn't reply and rested the blade on her palm. "Gilli?" she questioned tensely. Holding her gaze for a moment he didn't say a word. "You can't be serious!"

He blinked once and began to speak with intention. "Mithian Duranhelm, do you so swear to uphold your plan to free magic?" It was easy to tell she wasn't comfortable doing this, but he didn't back down. _"You know what to do."_ That, however, didn't seem to encourage her and his new respect for her was beginning to falter. "Grip the sword, Your Highness."

Mithian exhaled once and looked to him with a steady gaze, discomfort clear in her eyes. "Ye...Yes. I do so swear to free magic."

"So mote it be," he sealed the oath, followed by a swift twist of his sword and seeing the pain etched on Mithian's face, the princess blinking a few tears away as the red of blood ran down the arm she held in front of herself. Paying her no attention, he gripped the sword himself. "I, Gilli, pledge my allegiance to Mithian Duranhelm. So mote it be." Quickly repeating the process, Gilli wiped his sword on his pants before sheathing it once more.

Once he looked up it was clear she wasn't impressed. "Surely that wasn't strictly necessary?" she remarked with a controlled tone, her eyes had a hard sheen to them.

He led the way over to the well and proceeded to pull up a bucket of water, the future queen standing beside him silently. "Magic isn't something to joke about, so I don't," the warlock spoke plainly, lifting the bucket onto the stone edge of the well. A splash of water later, he looked up to see the woman was still tense and lacking emotion. "I want freedom. You plan freedom. Makes sense to me."

Her brown eyes flashed angrily and soon glowed gold, sending the bucket back down the well without touching it. "I'm not a fool, Gilli! I may know little of magic, but you just had me swear a life oath!"

Raising an eyebrow, Gilli plainly stood there and maintained eye contact with the agitated royal. "I didn't force your words, my queen," he pointed out. That comment made her glare in response.

"Get out of my sight!"

"As you wish."

Walking away from his future queen and hiding behind a cluster of hovels, he spoke the words of the Old Religion. Light wind gathered around him and the sight of Painswick soon disappeared from view, replaced by his memory of where he'd met a druid clan. Recalling Mithian's comment about it now being a rebel camp he sighed before looking up and crouched within the trees, sneaking in until he saw the clearing where he'd stayed a few times to learn about the ways of magic. Those memories seemed like dreams now, the peaceful atmosphere was gone and replaced by one of production and distrust.

Where the clan leader used to sleep was now home to a few fancy tents, every now and again people in threadbare clothes would approach and enter a tent, soon emerging and returning to one of the many projects underway in the centre of the camp. Observing the buzzing activity he noticed that it was less than benign.

Moving on he paid attention to the outskirts of the camp and spotted a hanging sheet. Straining his eyes from the vantage point where he knelt, he realised there was a rope tied to the trees behind it. Staying low and cautious of his step, Gilli wasted no time seeking the safest path from the sorcerers' sights and dashed along the top of the high rocky wall.

A few minutes later he was above a man facing the sheet he'd spotted earlier, the sorcerer suspended above the ground by rope, his torso and face painted with lines of red and brown. Upon seeing the dark bruises, Gilli couldn't help but feel pity for the man and winced. Climbing down from the rock, some of it became loose and fell to the ground making the person aware of his presence.

"I thought my message to run was fairly clear…" he coughed, the dryness of throat sounding painful. "You're so predictable though, Thea. I knew you would try to come back." Walking around so the man could actually see him, Gilli saw a smile of dark amusement. "You're a new one. Got something the others haven't tried yet? Nice one climbing down the rock. At least you're original."

Blinking for a moment he nodded to himself and made eye contact with the prisoner. "Connor, right?"

He didn't seem too impressed. "Get on with it. I don't give a shit for pleasantries," Connor remarked bitterly, his body becoming tense as though preparing for oncoming pain.

Gilli just raised his eyebrow, standing there with his arms crossed. "I have no idea what Thea sees in you."

Connor blinked, confusion flashing across his face but replaced by an angry scowl. "If Alvarr thinks delusions will make me talk you're sadly mistaken."

Rolling his shoulders and one hand directed at the bonds to his arms, Gilli stared him in the eye, fed up with the attitude he'd no doubt have in this man's position. "Do you want to get out of here or not?"

"Is that a question? Shouldn't be."

"Brace yourself." Was the only warning he gave the tortured sorcerer before muttering the incantation to release him. Watching him fall and grunt upon impact, Gilli walked over and offered a hand, using the other to undo the bonds on his feet.

"Thanks," Connor murmured before he coughed and raised his cuffed hands. "Now get these off me."

Without hesitation, Gilli made the solid metal break into halves and caught them, giving the pieces to Connor who took them after a stare of confusion. "She's in Painswick."

Looking in the direction of the camp, Gilli crossed his arms and scratched his elbows, unsure of what to do. The silence was broken by Connor.

"You're not coming?"

"No. Now go."

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Leaning against the fencing of a paddock, Gwaine watched Princess Mithian nurse a bleeding palm and looking angry. He was about to comment on it when Mithian unexpected snapped her head in the direction of the horses. Straightening up and gripping the hilt ready to fight, he went over and found an injured man using the tree for support, the animals acting restless near the blood-covered man.

"What's your business here?" he enquired, slipping into the persona of a knight. It hadn't been that long ago since quitting knighthood.

The man only made a half step in Gwaine's direction, still using the tree for support. He seemed a little relieved and lost the tension in his form. "You found her then?"

Baffled, Gwaine's grip on his sword loosened before he consciously tightened it. "Found her?" Straightening himself up once more he looked the man in the eye.

The question was suspicious and Mithian was indeed fleeing from rebels, but the figure before him was in no state to fight. He wasn't even armed.

 _She did say 'magical renegades'._

His thoughts were interrupted when the stranger coughed dryly for a moment. "You're a knight. Did you find your princess?" Determined to figure him out before giving away any knowledge to be used against him, Gwaine continued to wait for an answer. If they had magic and intended harm they would have done it by now. "You behave like one."

"I resigned. Who are you?"

The shirtless man opened his mouth but looked over Gwaine's shoulder and sighed tiredly, sitting on the ground and head rested against the trunk. "Connor?" Whipping around at Mithian's voice, Gwaine spotted the princess approaching with her mouth agape. "Gwaine, help me get him inside," she instructed firmly, looking up at Gwaine once supporting one of Connor's shoulders.

Watching the pair rise from the ground, Gwaine reluctantly supported the other shoulder and looked over at Mithian. Cocking an eyebrow when she returned his gaze, Gwaine wondered why she was so willing to help a stranger in her current situation. "You seem confident you know him."

 _How'd she know he was here?_

Mithian didn't say anything, for she was focussed on getting away from the curious eyes of the villagers. Entering the hovel of a widowed father who'd giving them refuge, she assisted Connor into a chair and quickly left the hovel. Sitting on a stool and leaning forward, Gwaine eyed him.

"How do you know each other?"

Connor forces an eye open, looking tired and ready to fall asleep. "Met her two days ago. I stayed behind so she could flee."

"Noble of you. How'd you find us?"

"Sorcerer came and freed me. Said Thea was here," he answered, eyes drooping in fatigue and breathing heavy to stay awake. The cuts across his body were those to inflict pain, not death, so he wasn't too concerned about Connor dying on his watch. The number of cuts made him feel a bit of respect for Connor considering he hadn't fainted yet.

"Thea?"

The stranger nodded once. "Her incognito."

"Who freed you?"

Connor just sighed and shut his eyes. "No idea. The kid never said his name."

 _Kid? You're not very old yourself, mate. Unless you think the pair of us are over the hill?_

Sitting up at the sound of footsteps, Gwaine witnessed Mithian entering with a bucket of water and hastily setting it down beside Connor and retrieving a rag. Dunking it into the bucket, wringing out the excess, she proceeded to carefully dab it on Connor's dried lips. Gwaine raised an eyebrow at her behaviour, and quietly went over to the side of the hovel where he could see the pair of them.

Her brow was furrowed, eyes checking his face occasionally before returning to the wounds on his chest. Connor breathing tiredly, eyes watching Mithian go about cleaning away the blood and dirt. Every now and again Connor would wince and her eyes darted up to his, silently pleading forgiveness which earned her a humoured smile. The cycle repeated itself over the next few minutes until the wounded man took Mithian's hand and stared into her eyes, not a word said. The princess blinked, giving a small smile and nodded once before returning to her work with a calmer hand.

 _You sure it was just two days, mate?_

Shaking his head and walking out of the hovel, Gwaine remained nearby and looked up at the sky, wondering just what Gilli was doing and why he just up and left. Unless he'd told Mithian and she hadn't told him yet. He spotted the widowed husband and wandered over. "Don't go in there just yet, Steve," he suggested, earning himself a strange look. "An ally turned up pretty injured. Superficial. Bloody sight though."

Stephen looked to the hovel in concern. "Nearest physician is a day away," he imparted, leaning against the wall of the hovel. "Should I expect any more of your friends?"

"No. Unless my mate decides to get his arse back here," Gwaine replied, seeing the confused expression on Stephen's face. "Wherever he went."

It was a moment that the widowed man gained a look of understanding. "I see. My wife was an impatient one too."

He wasn't alarmed that the villager had figured out Gilli had magic, for Gwaine knew the rules of Nemeth, including the acceptance of discrete magic. Glancing over his shoulder into the hovel, he spotted Mithian taking off her cloak, her shirt moving with it. His immediate thought made him do a double-take but saw that she was laying the cloak on the ground and assisting the now clean man onto it. Heart rate returning to normal, the resigned knight smirked lightly when Connor took her hand and held it for a moment, muttering something in the darkening hovel, the princess replying and remaining by Connor's side while he rested.

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Merlin stood in the moonlight in a clearing where he'd stopped Kilgharrah's terror upon Camelot, Merlin gazed up at the candlelit city he would never be able to return to. The part of his life that's now out of reach. Arthur thought he was dead and upon the king's return, the city would soon follow in that belief. He should never have gone with Gwaine on this stupid little trip. He should never have left Arthur's side, and none of this would have happened.

 _I'll never fulfil my destiny. There will be no Albion._

Not quite ready to walk away just yet, he approached the city until he spotted the entrance where he'd helped Mordred escape as a child. The bars he'd blasted open were gone, replaced with newer but the same.

Getting them off as he had in the past took only a thought instead of an incantation and he was soon sneaking through the tunnels, distracting any guards along the way.

He knew these tunnels better than possibly Arthur himself; living as the protector against vengeful sorcerers came with its requirements.

 _Aithusa and Tysun will have to protect Arthur now..._

Frowning at the thought he leant against the cold wall and sighed. Aithusa was right. He couldn't stay, but it didn't mean he had to like it. Returning to the matter at hand, he focussed on the guards at the vault door and held out his hand.

" _Swefe nu._ "

As expected the two men slumped and slid down to the floor, fast asleep and unaware of his presence.

" _Tospringe._ "

Opening the gate, Merlin calmly entered the vault with no urgency. Those guards would sleep well into the morning if he didn't lift the spell.

 _Should I even be looking at it?_

On a shelf to the side was a pouch containing an item he'd once regretted using, swearing to himself not to fall into the temptation again. Men had died to keep it out of the wrong hands, and even more died because of what he'd done.

 _I know how to avoid it. I understand it now. It's safer here with me as it is. Tonight was too easy, and no doubt the same for another sorcerer._

Reaching up and taking the Crystal of Neahtid, he made quick work of removing any hints of his presence, using magic to create a fake crystal and pouch. Reversing the spell on the guards, Merlin fled through the tunnels and repaired the bars with no one the wiser. As he walked through the hunting grounds towards the large clearing, his guilt of the past made the crystal seem heavier than its true weight.

But the ease of tonight's escapade reminded him of the danger if someone was to learn of its location and he hadn't stolen it. Holding onto that thought, Merlin retrieved his bag and Sidhe staff from where he'd hidden them hours ago. His life's possessions all fit within that bag, except the staff and his many memories of being a manservant to Arthur in the city that was now behind him.

Once seated on a log he glanced up at the candlelit windows of Camelot and sighed in yearning. Taking the crystal out of its pouch he hesitated, half his mind screaming up him to put it away.

 _...Will I ever help Arthur become the Once and Future King?...The answers are right here..._

 _Don't be a fool! You know what happened last time._

 _...I know better this time..._

 _You are playing a dangerous game, Merlin. Knowledge cannot be unlearnt._

 _...I don't know what to do. Arthur thinks I'm dead..._

Sitting on the log with the crystal hidden within his hands, he began to peer at it through the gaps between his fingers. It was clear for a moment and sighed in relief, but bright colours caught the warlock's attention. His immediate reaction was to shut his eyes, resisting the temptation to look. Blindly grabbing the pouch and sliding the crystal into it, he finally opened his eyes and relaxed, but the uncertainty of everything had not left him.

He stared at the pouch in his lap for a time, occasionally picking it up and glancing at the castle in memory of last time. The thought of the screaming and dragon fire made him put it back down, but time continued to pass and he didn't make any progress in figuring out what to do. Everything he knew was now out of reach, his destiny to help Arthur rise to be the Once and Future King was in tatters.

 _He'd never trust again if he knew the truth. Not after Morgana and Agravaine's betrayals._

Taking a breath he upturned the leather pouch and watched the Crystal of Neahtid slide into his palm, clear and shining in the moonlight. Slowly putting the pouch beside his leg, Merlin looked at the crystal before glancing to the sky and letting out a heavy breath.

Wrapping his other hand around the back of the crystal and holding it in front of himself as he had once before, the warlock shut his eyes tightly for a moment. He'd fought griffins, witches and bandits in the past without much trouble, but this shiny rock had him terrified of the outcome. An inanimate object.

Slowly releasing the hold on his magic, Merlin reluctantly allowed the energy to touch the crystal, lighting it up with an explosion of colour as the images began.

They started innocently enough; A square, but one he didn't recognise. It had deep green banners and flags. The pattern was one he'd seen for about a week some time ago. The square filled with peasants. Knights guarded the walls and balcony, watching for dangers and awaiting commands from their king.

On the balcony were four people. An aged king, a maidservant, a princess, a single knight standing at the king's left flank. Nothing seemed out of place.

A bolt flew through the air, but the image changed.

It was a spacious cavern with two beings chained to the walls. One chained by the neck, the other chained by their hands. The cavern had a flash of a torch, briefly showing a white being with sky blue eyes. Those eyes narrowed as though they were glaring at Merlin, but a second later there were familiar light green eyes doing the same. A vile man he knew only by description came into view with a taunting smirk but was instantly hidden by white fire.

King Lot and Princess Mithian were riding together in the lands of Essetir. Lot said something with a serious expression before lifting his eyebrow humouredly.

Going over to his desk, Arthur singled out a piece of parchment and threw it in the fire angrily.

Mithian was in a druid camp, kneeling next to an injured man and holding his hand within hers. It was clear he was dying, and it was tearing the princess apart.

Alvarr and Morgana walked together in a camp with much satisfaction.

A Nemeth border garrison accompanied by knights fought off a medium size party of soldiers.

Arthur and Bayard in Mercia's citadel shook hands and parted ways.

Queen Annis appeared frustrated and looked down from the tower where she stood, her city was under attack.

Within a poorly lit cell was a bruised and beaten Mithian, but she had a fire in her eyes as she spoke to Morgana defiantly who smirked at her. Morgana left the cell, and the crystal returned to the cell. It was empty.

In Camelot Arthur was talking to Leon, Elyan and Percival, a Caerleon messenger waiting anxiously nearby with a contingent of Camelot soldiers.

Arthur and King Lot were seated at the Round Table with three men seated near each of them. One king at each side and Gwen was beside Arthur. The image changed and it was nearly sunset. The two kings signing an agreement.

Within an abandoned castle, Alvarr stood in the centre of buzzing activity. Food, equipment, ingredients and books were in the hands of his companions. The renegade went outside and saw many sorcerers practising to kill with magic. Gilli was amongst them.

Merlin was in a grey cloak with a dark blue tunic, walking alongside Iseldir and overlooking a druid camp.

Merlin and Gilli were conversing, but it wasn't friendly.

A throne room decorated with burgundy. Odin stood with a smirk before a kneeling Mithian, repeatedly demanding something and the princess refused each time. Meredor's king soon had her at sword point and outnumbered, but Mithian didn't seem afraid. Instead, she smiled.

Odin's and Alined's armies marching together.

Merlin was talking to someone, and for once, with a genuine smile.

A man he'd never met was talking to a grown Aithusa. She was interested before growing excited.

Gwaine knighted in Nemeth colours.

Merlin saw himself, looking out of a window into a large courtyard where a monument stood. A lance horizontally suspended by ironwork. There was an expression of pained disappointment and he turned away, before spinning around to look again. His eyes widened in disbelief and he raced out of a council chamber with hope in his eyes.

Mordred was deeply conversing with druids, some appeared persuaded while others watched him with distrust.

Gwaine was fighting alongside a sorcerer in battle, encountering his former brothers-in-arms.

Arthur and Gwen were looking to one another with expressions happier than he'd ever seen them.

 _Arthur seemed happy and safe…without my help._

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	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Umm…hi? Don't shoot! I won't be gone so long again!**

 **I'd like to thank Marcus for all of his betaing on short notice.**

 **Disclaimer: Don't own Merlin**

"Blah" Normal speech

'Blah' Quote

 _"Blah" T_ elepathy/flashback or dream dialogue

 _Blah_ Thoughts/Emphasised words

XXXXXXX New scene

 **A Broken Coin 1:**

Chapter 7

It hurt.

The knowledge that Arthur was going to be happier without him stung beyond words.

Nearly seven years of facing danger together, making sacrifices for him, fighting for him, had amounted to nothing.

And if Arthur was happy then he'd never lift the ban on magic, and Uther's death had turned him against it forever.

 _I mean nothing to him..._

Although learning this was a painful blow to Merlin, he felt that it would have hurt more if he'd been faced with this reality years later. Turning his pained gaze away from Camelot, Merlin began walking south in the predawn darkness, glancing back occasionally and feeling the pang all over again.

Of the images he'd seen in the crystal last night, Gwaine becoming a knight of Nemeth had him surprised and confused, but right now Merlin needed a friend and Gwaine and Gilli were riding south last he knew.

 _Gilli...training to kill. I thought he knew better. How could he become a killer so easily? Is history repeating itself? The tournament but worse?_

The winded picked up suddenly, but he soon had his answer. "I see you have gazed upon the crystal once again, Merlin. In the wrong hands this is dangerous. Even In the right hands this is burdensome." Landing in front of him was Kilgharrah's massive form, his eyes upon the Crystal of Neahtid for it wasn't fully concealed by the pouch. "Last time your intervention only drove the event."

Coming from Kilgharrah it wasn't all that surprising, but Merlin couldn't help gaping in horror at the millennia-old dragon. "What do you suppose I do? Nothing?"

The dragon smiled. "Precisely."

Unable to stand still he proceeded to pace back and forth in front of the bronze dragon, trying to wrap his head around what Kilgharrah was asking him to do. He couldn't do it and came to a stop, staring Kilgharrah straight in the eye. "I can't stand by and let people suffer, Kilgharrah." Kilgharrah extended his foreleg and didn't say a word and once Merlin was secure, took flight.

Raising an eyebrow at the cryptic dragon's behaviour, Merlin returned his mind to the matter at hand. "The world thinks I'm dead, and I know what will happen. There has to be something I can do." Glancing down towards Camelot, Merlin saw a party of knights in the distance riding towards the city and couldn't help but feel that pang again.

Kilgharrah banked a hard left and Camelot disappear from sight. "You tried to stop the witch Morgana, yet the event from your vision still unfolded before you." Merlin didn't need the reminder of his failure and would have teleported from the dragon's back if he knew how. "The destiny of Arthur as The Once and Future King has all but perished. The destiny of Emrys can still be salvaged."

That snippet of information made Merlin straighten sharply from his slouched form. "What are you saying? You told me we were a coin. That Arthur needed me."

 _I've been living under that impression for years…Has he been lying to me all this time?_

"I did," replied the dragon, slowly descending from the clouds that'd concealed them. "It was your best chance to succeed, but with guidance from the right person freedom is still possible."

 _Trust the cryptic dragon to be cryptic at a time like this…_

Paying attention to their whereabouts and noticing their general direction, Merlin started growing restless at the sight of a clear blue body of water. "Where are we going?" he questioned in a wary tone.

The dragon didn't look back when they continued to descend, the Isle of the Blessed in the centre becoming increasingly visible. "To a man with knowledge that can only be taught, not given as I have in the past." Merlin could see the ruins of the castle, and Lancelot's death came to mind. Kilgharrah's commanding voice broke through his thoughts. "I knew you would not listen to me, so I sought out the one who desires freedom as much as, if not more so, than you do."

Merlin didn't like the undertone of Kilgharrah's voice. It sounded fixated and as though The Isle of the Blessed would get Kilgharrah what he wanted. But what did he want? Kilgharrah had said it himself that the destiny of the Once and Future King was in tatters, so that prophecy couldn't be it, could it? If so, what did it matter anyway? Arthur was going to be happy without him and never free magic. The questions, the doubts, the vague answers made Merlin finally ask. "Why are you taking me here?"

Kilgharrah didn't answer, instead, he landed in the expansive courtyard where Lancelot had died, and Merlin quickly dismounted and joined Alator who was standing off to the side near a large doorway. Looking to the bald priest, Merlin watched as Alator came forward and held something in front of Kilgharrah. Walking over to the man to get a closer look, Merlin saw that it had a number of engraved runes, none of which he understood.

"It is done," Alator informed Kilgharrah. Everything going on around him told him nothing and made him shift on his feet.

"Good. Set it on the ground."

Alator backed away upon placing the crystal before Kilgharrah and Merlin mimicked him until there was much space between them and the dragon. Magic started gathering towards the dragon. The magic within his own body started reacting to the pull, surprising Merlin when he stumbled forward for a moment. Kilgharrah took a deep breath and unleashed a torrent of white fire upon the crystal. He heard a sharp intake from Alator and the man dropped to his knee as though in respect.

Paying closer attention to what was happening, Merlin noticed there was more than just Kilgharrah's fire touching the crystal. A white spirit was interacting with the runes and proceeded to rise from the ground with the crystal. Copying the priest, Merlin dropped to his knee beside Alator and noticed that Kilgharrah was nowhere to be seen. Looking back to the spirit he witnessed the explosion of the crystal, a near-blinding light spreading over the water around the island like a dome before fading out of sight.

"It has been blessed by The Lady," Alator spoke vaguely, rising to his feet and turning to Merlin. "We begin."

"Begin? Begin what?"

Setting his bag and the Sidhe staff down by the doorway of the ruins, Merlin noticed that the inside looked as though it'd been made livable and consisted of many books. Hearing Alator come up beside him, Merlin looked to the man and tried to read the blank expression. A quick glance at the sky told him it was dawn.

"You are powerful, Emrys, but you're in much need of training." The bald man clarified before going over to the nearest of the castle ruins and standing before a piece of debris. "Lift this stone and hold it in place with your mind only."

And that was the beginning of many days.

He wouldn't have stayed if he'd had the choice, in fact, he'd tried to escape on more than one occasion, It went against his very nature to do nothing, but alas Merlin had no means of leaving The Isle of the Blessed to prevent the horrors he'd seen. Not even his strongest spells could free him from this prison.

Every time Merlin went to sleep he left a scratch on the wall, and every time he got up the sun was almost in the same position as it had been since the beginning of this continuous training. It took thirty-one scratches until the sun's position told him it was an hour since dawn. Or would have been an hour in a normal situation. A full month on the Isle of the Blessed..A full month on this accursed rock...

Today was day Thirty-two and there was much change to the courtyard. Gone was the debris, replaced by green grass and now-thriving plants. Instead of crumbled and decaying walls, they were now a bright white and looked as though the stone had been fused together to make one continuous piece of stone. It had taken Merlin a month to restore the courtyard to its former glory according to Alator.

The priest had been relentless in all manners of his training. Each time he woke it began with a theory on basic runes, followed by phrasing spells, before finishing off with an endless period of time mentally strengthening his magical ability by repairing the courtyard to a flawless state and carrying out as much spellwork simultaneously as possible.

Splitting his focus with such intensity left Merlin exhausted by the time Alator deemed the session over each day. The fact that Alator wasn't doing this alongside was probably the only reason the priest was being so brutal, but Merlin had learnt not to comment on it or the priest would push him harder until the end to their current session of training.

Wandering around the rest of the Isle of the Blessed, Merlin stood on a crumbling bridge that overlooked much of the island. He glanced at the courtyard before turning to the rest of the ruined castle. The contrast between the two made him gulp and continue walking until he was inside. Going down a repaired hall, the warlock took little notice of anything due to a headache and today was no different to the last thirty days. He'd had no chance to properly look over the Isle of the Blessed, either being too mentally exhausted or attempting to escape once again, but he'd given up on that course and admitted defeat long ago.

 _I will be free once the Triple Goddess deems me ready for magic's future._

That's what Alator had told him at least.

Entering his lavish chambers and heading straight for the tub, he pulled off the grey cloak and fine dark blue shirt Alator had given him. The high-quality, black trousers followed soon after, leaving a trail on the stone floor but Merlin didn't give it a second glance.

Using only his gaze to heat the clear water, Merlin sighed and rested against the side of the tub and allowing his aches from training that day to be alleviated by the heat. When his eyes fell upon the books stacked on his desk he groaned at the blasted things before getting out and wasting no time climbing into the bed that seemed to calling to him.

The cycle went on for another thirty-one days, and the sun now looked as though it was two hours past dawn. However, it had been two months for Merlin but had yet to see the moon since coming here.

Despite the fact that he wasn't by himself here, Merlin felt depressed from the lack of social interaction. Alator was his teacher and nothing more. Over the last sixty-two days here, Merlin had begun to understand Alator as a person, but it didn't make the loneliness any less bearable for Merlin since the time Alator spent with him was only in relation to training and nothing more.

Grudgingly dragging himself out of the bed for the beginning of more training, thankfully not as brutal as it used to be, Merlin proceeded to dress before looking out the window in longing. Across the body of water and many leagues away was Gwaine, Gilli and Aithusa.

 _Aithusa!...Why didn't I think of it before?_

Racing outside breakfast of porridge forgotten, Merlin looked to the sky and roared. " _O Aithusa, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!_ "

"Summoning a dragon will not help you leave here," Alator informed him with a look of pity in the courtyard near the final portion of wall needing repair. It'd taken Merlin a month to convince the man to stop calling him Emrys, now he didn't call Merlin anything. Coming to Merlin's side, the priest clasped his shoulder. "It has not escaped my notice why you desire company."

Turning to the man, Merlin gave him his full attention. "Can you blame me? You've been brutal, Alator, and I feel like a soldier. Do you have to train me like this?"

"Yes," confirmed Alator, glancing at the courtyard wall and the building Merlin had completed restoring yesterday. "Without the help of the Triple Goddess, the magic around us wouldn't be possible. I don't know when it will expire, but it will."

Looking away for a moment he shook his head. "Well. Could you possibly treat me more like a human?" Letting out a sigh, Merlin leant on the stone table. "It hasn't been the nicest experience."

Alator didn't say a word for a while, gazing at Merlin with a critical eye. "Since the beginning, your efforts have been minimal at best. Dedicate more of your focus to the training, then yes, I can…Merlin."

Biting his lip and looking in the directions of future events he was determined to stop, Merlin took a breath and closed his eyes. "I know I haven't been paying a lot of attention, but it's hard knowing what will happen and being stuck here."

"The future is shaped by our actions, Merlin. To change the future is to change yourself," Alator imparted, guiding Merlin out of the courtyard and to the interior of the citadel. "Sometimes changing yourself will not alter the future entirely. Not every event a person witnesses in visions or crystals will be affected by the person themselves."

The answer made Merlin want to groan, but he fought the urge, for he didn't want to destroy the little truce Alator and himself had come to. There was one thing he couldn't hold back from saying. "I thought you believed in prophecies?"

"I do," confirmed the priest, stopping at the end of a hall blocked by debris. Merlin knew what to do and cleared the debris to one side and fused it back into place with the rest of the stone. Stopping what he was doing, he curiously watched Alator use magic to create runes on the wall. "However I acknowledge when they are void and proceed to help the next likely prophecy come to be."

Interest piqued by this answer, Merlin stopped working on the hallway altogether. "And what's that?"

"You will learn in time."

 _He's worse than Kilgharrah!_

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, he turned away and healed it while pretending to repair the interior. "Why are we even doing this when we're normally surrounded by your tomes, Alator?"

Directing Merlin over to the cluster of runes on the wall, Alator steps aside and said nothing. It wasn't the first time the priest hadn't said what he wanted Merlin to do. Huffing, the warlock looked at each of the runes individually before proceeding to read them together like a sentence. A jumbled sentence. Staring at the circle of runes and scratching his head, Merlin stopped when Alator handed him a journal he recognised and writing utensils.

"My tomes have nothing left to teach you. It's time that your knowledge of runes and magic be put into practice." Accepting his notes from the last two months of theory and opening a blank page, Merlin copied the rune cluster down and began breaking it into parts.

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The woods were quiet and very few druids stirred given the early hours of the morning. But amongst the handful awake was Mordred, sitting with three young druids and having a quiet conversation. Upon his return from the Crystal Cave the druid had felt out of place and unsure of what to do. Considered a murderer-to-be by his own kind and unable to be himself around those who weren't, Mordred had little idea of what to do aside from returning to Iseldir's clan and seeking advice. The advice he had yet to find, but in his search, he'd drawn the attention of Jared, Nicole and Alvina; three open-minded fellow druids that saw him for who he was.

A person.

The four of them were all seated on a fallen log, keeping their voices low or risk awakening more than one unpleasant person. Namely Beatrice, a pregnant druid who was obnoxious enough with her moods being erratic. Nicole leant toward Mordred with her brown locks shaping her face. "I don't know why you stay here, Mordred. Most of them are fixated on the prophecy." The blonde, Jared, nodding beside her.

The remark made him squirm for a moment before a sharp pine surprised him. Alvina muffling her laugh with a fisted hand, but the laughter shone clearly in the redhead's eyes. "I feel trusted here. A little," he admitted, not sure what his real answer was. Seeing Alvina take the hand away, he took caution when adjusting himself on the log again, but all humour was gone from their faces.

Jared rubbed his hands together to fight off the morning chill Mordred himself could feel. "Well, I was going to do it sooner or later, but…I'm leaving."

"Leaving?" Nicole and Alvina echoed, while Mordred quietly watched Jared.

Jared nodded with conviction, strangely calm about the whole thing. "Why not? There's word the Fisher King is gone and The Perilous Lands are healing. And no tyrant to hide from like Camelot." Rising from the log, the blonde raised an eyebrow in disbelief before nodding towards the camp. "And that."

Following the gaze of Jared, Mordred could see many clan members with expressions of lost hope. Walking over to the blonde and hearing Nicole go to Jared's other side, Alvina to Mordred's right, the raven turned to Jared. "What is it?"

The reply came from the opposite side of Mordred. "The Once and Future King prophecy is over."

 _What? Am I free?_

Alvina continued as they all turned to her. "Arthur Pendragon is alive, but he is no longer the Once and Future King."

Mordred glanced down at the rest of the clan, the elders leaving the centre of the clearing and going out of sight. "Are you sure?"

The redhead shrugged. "As sure as they are, Jared and I can read their lips. They kept saying 'Is Emrys dead?' and arguing that it's impossible," she reasoned, leading the way down to the tents and taking theirs apart. Nicole and Jared helped her pack while Mordred stood still processing this.

To have the reason for his life's grief dead was almost incomprehensible, a feeling of numbness spreading throughout his body when he knelt down and lent a hand. Forgiving Merlin was far from his mind for what had happened in the past, but over time Mordred had come to suspect Merlin had been as afraid of destiny and fate as he was.

Consumed with thought and blindly carrying out the task at hand, Mordred almost fell over when a hand touched his shoulder. Jared smiled apologetically. "Sorry, Mordred. I guess all this is a bit of a shock to you." The brunette could only let out a single humourless laugh in response. That was an understatement. "Let's go."

The commotion within the clan camp allowed them to exit quickly, the group of four heading north by foot with only their bags as luggage. Dropping back to give himself a chance to think, Mordred looked in the direction of Camelot and wondered what would happen there now. He remembered Tysun had been tasked with protecting Arthur with Aithusa's help. Would they still do it or abandon it?

He trailed behind Nicole, Jared and Alvina for a time while lost in his thoughts. Was he free from the grasps of the prophecy? Would magic be more widely accepted in the kingdoms in the future? How could Merlin have died? What if they were mistaken? Were they mistaken?

Sighing and looking to the three who accepted him for who he was, Mordred realised he could have a life without having to be alone. He'd been in the guise of being part of the clan, but in truth, he was just a fly that hovered around the clan's ears. Closing the gap between himself and the others, and that of a free future, Mordred saw Alvina nod to him and it felt right to nod back.

Glancing up at the sound of wings, Mordred saw Aithusa rapidly flying south-west towards the City of Camelot with no indication of slowing down.

 _"Aithusa!"_

 _"Mordred? Are you alright?"_

 _"Yes, bu-"_

 _"I'm sorry. I have to keep going. Something's wrong."_

Watching the dragon go beyond the city and disappear from sight, the raven druid frowned and fidgeted with the side of his trousers before looking up at the sound of Nicole's voice. Speeding up to close the gap between them, he continued with the three towards The Perilous Lands. With a final glance in Aithusa's direction, he hoped that everything would be alright and that the clan elders had simply been mistaken.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Entering the City of Camelot in the quiet company of his knights, Arthur looked up towards the citadel and felt the pain of Merlin's death all over again. It would never be the same again. The abrupt awakenings of sunlight hitting his eyes and the annoyingly chirpy "Rise and Shine" from Merlin. Bantering that he'd never had with another manservant. The bravery he'd witnessed from Merlin on more occasions than he could count on both hands. Wise words that would come from the man in a sporadic manner. The loyalty that never faltered.

But it was the loss of his friend that mattered most.

'Friend' was something he'd said only a few times over the years that Merlin had been in his service, and it was now that he wished he'd spoken it more.

" _You're the only friend I have, and I couldn't bear to lose you."_

His grip on the reins tightened and remained that way until they had entered the square, where he handed them to a stable hand after dismounting. Going inside, Arthur walked the halls with one place in mind; becoming blind to all around him except for where he wanted to go. Climbing the stairs and opening the single wooden door, he went inside and saw that he was alone. Taking caution not to damage anything inside the Physician Chambers, the blonde walked over to the door of Merlin's chambers and hesitated. His hand was on the door handle but after a moment he finally opened it and saw the unnatural tidiness of the room.

Arthur couldn't remember a time where it had been so clean. The foreign concept clashed with the memories of clothes strewn everywhere and an unmade bed. Walking into Merlin's chambers in a daze, Arthur took a few uneasy steps into the room and looked around before his eyes fell on the bed. The king seated himself, still in full armour, and grasped the edge of the bed. His body shook with bottled grief as he sat on that bed, eyes on the wooden planks, some of them too small for their spaces but one of them appeared to have something under it.

Getting off the bed,curiosity driving him forward, Arthur removed one of them and picked up what could only have been a journal, which fell open in his hand to an entry about their return from the Dorocha and giving Gwen Arthur's sigil, as per his friend's request, although Arthur had survived their journey. The last portion of the page spoke of how he'd intended to take Arthur's place at the veil.

Closing it with care, the king placed it on the bedside table and felt moisture staining his face.

"You idiot…"

And that was all it took for the memory of Nefeir to rise to the surface.

 _Gwaine's shout over the din. "Merlin! No! It's too late!"_

Shutting his eyes to block out Merlin's cry of pain that followed, he failed and flinched as the memory insisted on running its course. Picking up the journal from the bedside table, Arthur slowly milled around the room and settled against the desk as the past faintly replayed itself in front of his eyes.

The feeling of parchment against his fingers snapped him out of the everyday memories; he realised he'd been crying as he'd visualised the only friend he no longer had. The king turned and saw a thick piece of folded parchment protruding from one of the drawers of the desk. Carefully opening it and removing the parchment, Arthur blinked upon seeing it was addressed to him before a thick portion fell out onto the desk. Still gripping the original one, he frowned at the name in Gwaine's scrawl.

 _Pendragon_

Opening the letter he began.

 _It's funny what you do for a friend._

" _I wouldn't miss it for the world."_

 _I would nowadays. And you didn't deserve Merlin's loyalty, you never did._

 _He was the only reason I remained a Knight of Camelot for the last year and a half and if you're reading this now, then I've left your 'noble' arse with no regrets but one._

 _I didn't get Merlin away from your ungrateful hide to a place where he wouldn't be miserable and mentally degraded to a second-class citizen._

Arthur's lips parted as he reread that line.

 _That's right._

 _He was bloody miserable after the original Round Table and YOU failed to notice that._ _ **For years.**_

 _He was your_ _personal_ _manservant, gods above, how dense could you be?_

 _But all 'nobles' never think beyond themselves. And that's what constantly aggravates me. You never followed through on your oath for equality unless it served some personal purpose,_ _for you._

 _My brothers-in-arms? You needed some fighters. They were all a friend or mutual friend of Merlin's. Funny that._

 _The lifted persecution of druids, but not magic? You had a guilty conscience and the threat of death hanging over your head._

 _Gwen? So you could marry her._

 _There's more, but the one that matters the most…_

 _ **Not once was Merlin seated at a Camelot Round Table meeting. He was at your beck and call like a servant who didn't matter!**_

 _Why the hell didn't I punch you after the third false meeting in Camelot?_

 _Oh yeah, Merlin saw my anger and asked me not to._

 _You're a lying bastard, Arthur Pendragon._

 _He's done too much for you._

He couldn't believe his eyes and gaping at Gwaine's clear loathing of him.

 _You claimed that Merlin matters. Yet, you never bloody showed it._

 _You laughed off his advice._

 _YOU FAILED to notice his misery._

 _You always listened to pure strangers, but not to Merlin._

 _He believed, to this day, that you saw him as nothing more than a bumbling fool!_

 _An idiot -Your favourite._

 _He was so much more than that._

 _He would have died for you, or perhaps he did if you're sniffing around in his chambers, and he damn well shouldn't have!_

 _(He doesn't know I added this letter, but I knew he'd written one.)_

 _You never deserved his loyalty!_

 _He suffered more than you know._

 _FOR YOU!_

 _You're not worth the ink on this page, Noble._

The blows Gwaine intended to deliver clearly hit their mark and Arthur had to put the letter down. Gripping the edge of the desk and looking up, the king wondered just how much of that was true for all of his Round Table knights.

 _Did they all think of him this way?_

Glancing at the thick piece of parchment on the desk, he noticed it was addressed with 'Sire' instead of 'Arthur', much like Gwaine's derogative use of 'noble' within his, giving him the feeling that reading Merlin's would only bring more dread.

Merlin never called him 'Sire' unless Arthur was acting in a way he deemed wrong.

 _Was Gwaine right? Had Merlin truly been miserable enough to call him 'Sire' instead of 'Arthur' in his final words to him?_

The thought made him hesitant to pick it up, but pushing those feelings aside and the sting of Gwaine to the back of his mind, he did it anyway.

 _Sire,_

 _I've always been by your side, but as the years have passed, Gwaine's comments and my own experiences have made me question myself, but never acting on it._

 _'Why did I stay to fix something I could never change?'_

 _At first, being your manservant was just an arrangement neither of us wanted, but over time it became more than that. You listened to me about Valiant, the Afanc and more. Seeing you become a greater person than the bullying prince you were when I came to Camelot made me proud to be your manservant and, hopefully, your friend as station came to mean less to you. You are becoming the Once and Future King, and I am proud of that._

 _It is your destiny._

 _To be a king who cares about the people and stands up to do what is right no matter how difficult. A prosperous king, to bring the kingdoms of Albion together and create a time of peace._

 _It was my destiny to help you become that king, but in one aspect, I failed._

 _There are people in this kingdom who still hide because they must. And it's my fault._

 _You were inconsolable. Couldn't be calmed down, and almost murdered your own father._

 _I had to lie._

He blinked and read on.

 _To prevent a regret that would haunt you forever, I had to lie._

 _It really was your mother that night and no illusion crafted by Morgause. I wrongly hardened your heart towards magic._

Stunned, he sat on the bed and stared at the words willing them to change. They didn't.

Rising from the bed and closing the door, he paced the small and disturbingly clean chambers, and battled the internal conflict he was faced with by Merlin's words. Never had he imagined such a scenario as this. It had been nearly five years since going to Morgause and all that followed. He didn't know if he could have brought himself to have done what Merlin had. To tell a falsehood that would impact an entire people for the sake of one man.

To learn that his distrust towards magic had been reinforced by the lie Merlin told to protect his father brought the memory to the front of his mind.

 _He had his father at sword point, trapped sitting in the throne in the council chambers; seconds from a swift death._

" _Arthur! Don't! I know you don't want to do this!"_

" _My mother is dead because of him!"_

" _Killing your father won't bring her back. You've lost one parent. Do you really want to lose another? Arthur, please, put the sword down."_

" _You heard what my mother said! After everything he has done, do you believe he deserves to live?! He executes those who use magic, and yet he has used it himself! You have caused so much suffering and pain! I will put an end to that!"_

" _Morgause…is lying…," Merlin tapered off before a pregnant pause. "She's an enchantress…She tricked you. That was not your mother you saw. That was an illusion. Everything...everything your mother said to you...those were Morgause's words."_

Going over to the nearest wall, Arthur punched it with his spare hand and wordlessly shouted.

His mind was hazed with rage that night, but recalling it now he knew it had been a lie.

Overly slow.

Rapidly speeding up.

The pain in Merlin's tone of voice.

"Damn it all!"

Kicking the cupboard and dropping onto the chair, Arthur ran a hand through his hair and wondered why in the world Merlin did it. Fully aware of all the murder and pain carried out in his father's name.

For Merlin to have stood there, every day and witness the persecution to go on while his prince happily interacted with the one responsible for it all until the man died.

Arthur just couldn't wrap his head around it.

"Just…why, Merlin? Why would you do something like that?"

 _Because he was loyal to me. Loyal to a fault._

" 'To prevent a regret that would haunt you forever, I had to lie.' "

Rising from the chair with a heavy sense of guilt, Arthur shook his head and looked out the window and saw his reflection. And he realised.

 _He didn't want my father's murder to be on my conscience._

 _Merlin…_

Roughly wiping away a stray tear and clutching the letter in both hands, Arthur read on.

 _I regret putting magic in an undeserved, negative light, but there was nothing else that would stop you. Since then I tried to fix things, but I failed at every opportunity, which made things worse for those I'd wronged._

 _Then as time went on, I earned myself the title of 'idiot'. You stopped listening to me like you used to; never took me seriously. I deserved it after what I'd done._

 _I wronged an entire kind of people for your sake and I couldn't fix it._

 _Because of me, the peaceful hide and the indignant fight back. And the latter is all you have seen because of me._

 _Magic didn't corrupt Morgana. It was fear._

 _Imagine it; inside the same guarded citadel as the very man who would execute you and your kind, day after day. Witch-hunters and consistent executions of innocent people for the possibility of having magic. Remember Gwen? Your father sentenced her to execution for sorcery after the healing poultice in her house and again when you fell for her._

 _If I hadn't lied, Morgana wouldn't have felt as though Camelot was a pyre just waiting to be lit._

 _She fled to Morgause, who was convinced you are the same as Uther after what she revealed to you._

 _A killer of her kind._

 _Morgana truly believes it._

 _Remember when you last spoke?_

 _"What happened to you, Morgana? I thought we were friends."_

 _"As did I, but alas we were both wrong."_

 _She believed you approved of the Great Purge and all the death that followed for decades._

 _Because of me._

 _I tried to fix it. I swear I did._

The regret was so thick it was almost tangible from the letter. Arthur hung his head in memory of a friend, but the written begging tore at the king.

"I believe you, Merlin…"

 _But believe something long enough and it becomes reality. So it is for Morgana._

 _Being the idiot I am, I caused this. I'm the reason Morgana fights her perceived hunter._

 _You._

"And that was your reality, wasn't it, Merlin? You weren't an idiot, but you died thinking that…"

 _She's not blameless, but my actions drove her to what she is now._

 _I never told anyone but three people - one now dead - of what I'd done that made Morgana into what she is today. The shame of turning a friend into an enemy. One of my greatest regrets._

"Gaius and Gwaine," Arthur murmured, for who else would it be? One went without saying, while Gwaine's letter gave him away.

 _When she found out your father was on his deathbed, she struck with a pendant that reversed healing magic tenfold. Gaius told me._

 _Because of me, Dragoon was framed for murdering your father and lives on the run._

 _See where I'm going with this?_

 _All this fear and death is linked to me because I couldn't right that one wrong, - that one lie - and it keeps piling up._

 _Hopefully, now that you know the truth, you will right this in my place._

 _If you will listen to me one last time, make it now._

 _Please, Arthur._

Arthur stared at the parchment in defeat. All of this guilt tearing away at Merlin's conscience and he hadn't noticed. Gwaine had been right, and that mental admission dragged the pain of Gwaine's loathe-filled short, sharp letter to the forefront to join the words Merlin's lengthy one.

 _Was he truly so oblivious not to realise something like this?_

Taking out the sword that he'd pulled from the stone six months ago, Arthur laid it on the desk and wondered whether it truly belonged to him as Camelot's king. Only a true king of Camelot could have removed it, but now Arthur wasn't so sure. Had Merlin believed in him more than he really deserved? How could he carry such a special and symbolic weapon and say it belonged to him if he hadn't seen the struggles of his only friend?

The chamber door creaked and there Gaius stood with grim concern.

"Sire?" the physician uttered as he entered the room.

"Gaius," he replied attentively, sheathing his sword swiftly.

The single word acknowledgement earned Arthur a frown from Gaius before the physician walked over to stand beside his king. "There is no shame in grieving a friend, Arthur. You know what Merlin would say about the court if he saw you hiding here."

A new wave of guilt and grief washed over him. "'Damn the court', I imagine." Sitting on the table, Arthur looked to the aged physician. "But how did you know what happened?"

"Nothing specific, Sire, but Sir Leon took me aside in the Knight's wing and gave his condolences," Gaius replied calmly, before glancing at the parchment in Arthur's hand.

"Have you seen these, Gaius?" he asked, lifting them up and allowing the vulnerability from his doubt to show in that one moment. "What Merlin said…I don't know what to believe."

"I could hazard a guess of the content, Sire, but I respect Merlin's privacy."

 _Gaius seems to know…_

"They were addressed to me. Gwaine's definitely had bite," he remarked, trying to mask his emotions.

Watching Gaius set himself on the bed and putting his medicine bag down, Arthur began to slowly pace. "He wasn't even supposed to be there, but there he was in Nefeir while it was under attack. He always survived incidents like these with nothing to defend himself…" the king slowed at the admission and realised such circumstances and repeatedly so was odd. "…and so he did this time. Or he would have, but a child was trapped in a burning cottage which had collapsed after he ran in. He never once hesitated."

Gaius sighed quietly and rested his hands together in his lap.

"I'm sorry, Gaius. I tried… _everything_."

The loyal physician rose to his feet and nodded. "I understand, Sire."

"Gaius?" The physician's expression was mournful but looked up. "If you could answer just one thing, there's something I must know...You must tell me."

"Yes?"

Standing in the doorway to Gaius' main chamber, Arthur chose his words carefully. "To what benefit would Merlin lie about my father's actions to protect him?"

He sighed and straightened a little. "You, Sire. And nothing less. You wouldn't be the king you are today if he hadn't." A silence passed between them. "If I could have some time?"

"Of course." Suddenly feeling as though he was intruding, the king left with the journal in hand and mindlessly made for his chambers. He entered silently before placing both letters and his sword on top of the paperwork on the desk and sitting on the windowsill. Turning the journal over in his hands, but feeling the urge to leave it closed, Arthur aimlessly looked out the window, struggling to wonder just what other lengths his only friend had gone for him.

He looked over where Guinevere kept his mother's sigil.

 _They were alone on night watch for the Dorocha near the end of their journey to the Isle of the Blessed. "I want you to do something for me, Merlin."_

" _You can do it yourself when we're back," was a quiet, witty retort._

 _Taking out his mother's sigil, he held it out to Merlin. "I want you to take this to Guinevere. It belonged to my mother and would be hers if we'd married."_

" _You've seen how clumsy I am. I wouldn't trust me with it."_

 _He sighed at Merlin's clear intention to take his place at the veil. "I ask you not as my manservant, Merlin. I ask you as my friend."_

 _Arthur saw a smile tugging at Merlin's lips before he'd turned melancholy. "One day you will become Camelot's greatest king. I think you can hold onto it a little longer."_

" _Take it. I'm entrusting the task to_ you _," he reiterated. He wouldn't accept no for an answer._

 _Merlin finally took it but looked back up. "Things never turn out how you expect."_

They hadn't then, and they hadn't now.

A creak from the door caught his attention. It was Guinevere. "Arthur? Is it true? What the knights are saying? Merlin.…is he?"

She stopped, the words dying on her lips, upon seeing the look on his face.

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Aithusa regretted that she couldn't stop and help the troubled druid, but she could feel the pull of the summoning. Although she could've resisted it for a time, the garbled manner of Merlin's words contributed to Aithusa's state of high alert. Three hours ago her connection to Merlin felt fragmented and weak as though something was interfering with it.

Of the time she's had to herself, Aithusa wondered if she truly was the last dragon to come into the world and if Kilgharrah was the only other dragon in existence. For Uther to have eradicated the entire dragon race apart from Kilgharrah seemed impossible. A word about her kind's murder would have gotten out and dragons weren't known to be wise creatures of magic for nothing. Her race wouldn't have flown to their deaths like moths to a flame, and how could humans know how many eggs were left in the world?

These thoughts yesterday resulted in Aithusa flying along the mountains near the northern coast of Mercia in search for answers. A search she would have continued for days hadn't she sensed a problem with her bond to Merlin.

The growing concern for her dragonlord drove Aithusa to thrash the wind in her haste, and soon she came upon the sight of The Isle of the Blessed. Nothing looked out of the ordinary from the outer perimeter, but something was abuzz within it. Landing near the platform for the ferry, Aithusa wrangled with the command as she willed herself to look at just what was happening on the island.

What used to be in ruins now resembled a half constructed castle, which was progressively continuing but Aithusa was unable to fix her eyes on the source of change. The darkening stone was now white and without moss. The vegetation was flourishing, the water was losing some of its murky quality.

The Isle of the Blessed was looking more like its namesake and less than its former appearance. However, there was something nearly transparent surrounding the perimeter.

Unable to delay her obedience any longer, Aithusa was forced to continue her approach and flew onward and immediately felt magic washing over her. The swift progression of the castle had slowed to almost a halt and there were two men in an expansive courtyard.

The first was older, bald and donned in all black as he appeared to be giving feedback and testing the walls with his magic.

The other she identified immediately from their bond, but his outer appearance was different to anything she'd seen before. Of the few times she'd seen him in her life, but more often recently, Merlin had a more, dare she think, imposing look. Hair was as it had always been with his ears protruding from it as usual but that was where the similarity stopped.

Instead of his threadbare clothing, suited to that of a servant, he was donned in a grey cloak with high-quality black trousers and a navy blue tunic which brought out his eyes. Overall, he had a humble but somehow formidable appearance with his wiry frame. His presence gave a more important impression than before –that of a lord. Her dragonlord.

Thankful for her small stature, Aithusa landed at the far end of the courtyard and watched Merlin work at the repair of the castle under the instruction of the bald one. Taking the time to rest from her hasty flight of many leagues she settled down, feeling sure that Merlin would explain everything about this island when they were both in a state to converse. Glancing his way one more time, she remembered how Merlin had acted surprised when she mentioned Mordred in the cave under the Camelot citadel.

 _Kilgharrah probably hammered into him that Mordred was not to be trusted._

 _But can't they see that befriending Mordred could make things better? To see Mordred in the Crystal Cave was bound to happen eventually and it lifted my heart when I saw that he still had hope and wished for a peaceful future. Not the bitter being Kilgharrah insists he will be._

 _If Merlin and Mordred trusted one another – and Merlin stops trying to get him killed – just how much could they achieve together?_

 _I wonder just what is running through Merlin's mind about Mordred now that I've made Merlin see that the_ almighty Kilgharrah _, the stubborn relic, is steering him away from freedom?_

 _He left Camelot. Granted, not of choice, but I know he doubts the prophecy. Even if he isn't aware of acknowledging that just yet, even to himself._

Opening her eyes lazily, watching her dragonlord learning the ways of magic from the bald one, she crossed her paws and pondered her mentor.

 _Just how much of an effect did imprisonment have on you, Kilgharrah? Your obsession about the Once and Future King prophecy was all you cared about yet did little to contribute yourself. You told me your beliefs as though they were a law or something. Did every one of those twenty years convince you that you were right and anything else would fail?_

A moment later, she frowned.

 _From all I've heard about and see of you and Merlin, you seemed to influence and pressure Merlin into carrying out your bidding. In time, it became his own trait, but now that he's away from Camelot and all that, will he become his old self? Once again do what he felt was right and not what you'd approve of?_

She glanced at her paws for some time and back up to her dragonlord. _"I promise to you, Merlin. We will be free as magical beings, and free as ourselves."_

"Aithusa? Are you alright?"

She nodded before adjusting slightly so she could sleep. "Just exhausted, Merlin. I was in Mercia's north." The soft brushing against her scales lulled the hatchling to sleep. "You're more dragonlord now."

Aithusa thought she heard him sputter as she fell into a deep sleep, a soft smile gracing her maw.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It seemed as though there was hardly a moment of silence within the camp, if it wasn't the ruckus of production during the day, the sounds of rustled parchment and muffled discussion came from within Alvarr's tent. Throughout the day he offered help when he saw it was needed, and Gilli mingled amongst the rebels so he would be mistaken for one of them. He spotted a stack of cauldrons about to tumble and raced over with his hand out.

" _Ástynte_!"

His hold on the cauldrons lasted for but a minute. A moment later all twelve fell down and he had to dive out of the way, but one rolled over a rock and changed course, harshly clipping him on the shoulder in the process. With a hand gripping the cut he witnessed the cauldrons rolling towards the centre of the camp.

The ruckus had drawn the attention of those on guard duty and one stopped the cauldrons' movements with a shouted incantation. Throwing a dirty look Gilli's way, the guards muttered darkly and returned to work.

Those sleeping in the camp weren't as kind and threw scathing comments before turning over in their bedrolls and tents.

Turning away from the irate fellow sorcerers, Gilli spotted movement coming from the pavilion where there'd been ongoing talk for the majority of the day. Filling with dread, he kept walking to a spare bedroll but noticed that his superior, Alvarr, hadn't taken his gaze from him.

Blood rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment and the warlock bedded down for the night avoiding eye contact with all others.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was well into the evening that Mithian, Connor and Gwaine arrived at Nemeth. By all logic, they should still have a day's travel left before reaching the city, as well as the fact she was dead in the saddle feeling sapped of all energy; not the normal result of prolonged riding. Glancing over at Gwaine she saw the former knight was far better off than herself, but a proper look at Connor told her a different story.

When they were in Painswick the sorcerer was fully rested before they'd mounted the horses for Nemeth at dawn; at the time Connor was looking well except for the cuts and bruises that discoloured his body. At the lack of burns from the sun, she smiled weakly in satisfaction that her cloak had done its job of protecting Connor. Now, however, he looked as exhausted as she felt.

Today was the second ride where she'd travelled faster than normal, but too exhausted to give it any further thought Mithian nudged her horse into a walk, the sound of hooves behind her telling Mithian that the men were doing the same. Leading the way through the lower town in her peasant disguise 'Thea', she noticed the three of them garnered a few curious glances and short muttered conversations from the townsfolk but nothing more.

Glancing up at the drawbridge ahead she sighed tiredly and dropped her gaze to the ground again before straightening her form to brace for the barrage of questions no doubt waiting for her ahead.

"Thea." Turning around in her saddle Mithian saw that it'd been Gwaine. "I'll find a tavern for the night. Your father would give me a rather cold reception and I don't want to test it."

The pair of them knew why King Rodor would be less than welcoming to Gwaine, and while she'd somewhat put Gwaine's transgression behind her, she doubted her father would be the same. Her father had yet to see that Gwaine was more than a scoundrel that breached his daughter's privacy in a drunken state. She hadn't fully forgiven the man but if he continued proving to her he was more than a mischievous drunkard that Mithian didn't doubt she would forgive and forget the incident eventually; as long as he didn't breathe a word of it.

"It would be unfair of me to expect otherwise, Sir Gwaine. Just don't start a brawl. Your reputation precedes you," she advised while handing the reins of her newly-acquired horse to the stable hand as Gwaine did the same with his mare, giving her a fond pat before parting with Blaze.

"Glad to hear it."

Looking to the night sky and shaking her head, she turned back towards the knight as she helped Connor out of his saddle. "I was hoping you wouldn't see it that way."

Connor was silent and had little energy, but her irritation appearing to be entertaining him although he said nothing.

Gwaine, on the other hand, was his chatty self. "Relax, dear princess. No need to fret about little old me. I know how to lay low."

Dead on her feet and not exactly eager to participate in whatever banter he'd throw her way, Mithian retrieved a few coins from her person and tossed them Gwaine's way. He caught them deftly. "See that you do. And don't flatter yourself."

Gwaine chuckled with a rogue-like smile and gave a sarcastic bow, turning away and heading towards the lower town to avoid the likely ire of her father.

"We need to get you to the physician." Her hands carefully grasped Connor's shoulders she guided him to her home.

Entering the citadel and supporting Connor, Mithian took a little time to reach Elijah's physician chambers. A soft orange glow framed the door and made her smile in knowing she wouldn't be waking him up at this hour, but at the same time wondering what could be having him up at such an hour. Considering the middle-aged man had no apprentice and needed to retrieve all herbs himself, Elijah, by all rights, should be asleep to prepare for the no doubt busy day to come.

"Thanks, Thea," Connor murmured as leant against the wall.

Nodding, she turned and rapped softly on the door.

There was rustling from within but the court physician door soon opened. "My lady? What happened to you? The court has been in a state for two days."

"It's not me that you should worry about," she argued as she gestured to Connor. "Please do your best for him, Elijah. If not for him I wouldn't be here."

Elijah needed no prompting upon spotting her companion in the darkness, opening the door further and leading the injured man inside. He seated him on the patient bed. "If you would indulge me with a story, Princess Mithian?" he remarked with intrigue. Gathering a few solutions and cloth and stood over Connor, now laying on the bed. "I dare say the event of your disappearance is one of mystery."

Coming over and assisting him where she could, Mithian began explaining her latest problem.

"There is an imposter with a fighting force, going around the kingdom in my name, stealing the money of villagers and selectively taking people with them," she started still conflicted about acknowledging whether she had magic or not.

"Selectively? Those with magic?"

"Yes," Mithian replied before biting her lip. _Should I lie and hide the truth about myself?_

"Interesting. It sounds like a rebellion. But I'd expect it in Camelot, not Nemeth." Elijah didn't look up until he finished retrieving the sleeping potion for Connor.

"Females who looked like me were also taken, hence my disappearance," she regrettably lied to her equivalent of an older brother. "Where are Sirs Leofric and Richard? I imagine they'd be quite concerned."

"They returned a day and a half ago but immediately left with a search party."

"I must stop them. They'll be slaughtered like cattle."

There was the sound of a throat being cleared behind them. The pair of them looked back to Connor who still held the potion in his hand, for he had clearly been listening. "I may be of help."

Mithian shook her head in confusion. "How? The state you're in, Connor, is one of crucial bedrest-" She faltered when he smiled. "What is it?"

"Write a letter, Thea, with your seal. Ravens are fast messengers. I can summon you one."

Mentally feeling like scolding herself after the exposure to magic in the rebel camp, she gave his hand a light squeeze and went over to Elijah's desk and gathering some spare stationary.

 _Sirs Leofric, Richard, and company._

 _I have returned to Nemeth and received word from Elijah about your search party._

 _You must return to the city immediately, for I have crucial information._

 _If you're near the Northern Forest, I implore you to make haste for Nemeth._

 _The search party would be cut down like animals._

 _Return to Nemeth._

 _By my will._

 _Princess Mithian Duranhelm of Nemeth._

Blinking when hot wax entered her line of sight, Mithian looked up and saw Connor's amused smile with a jar in hand despite his exhausted state. "I thought you might need this."

Embarrassed she'd forgotten the key element to making her letter a genuine one, she felt the heat rise in her cheeks and looked down to fold the letter. "Indeed I do."

Connor swiftly moved towards the window and opened it as she poured the wax on and stamped it with the ring she'd concealed these past few days, Mithian rose with the fresh letter and handed it to Connor, who murmured an incantation and the names of her most trusted knights.

"I will rest easy knowing we've done our best for them."

"You're welcome, Thea."

Connor handed the letter to the raven that landed on the windowsill. A moment later it took to the night sky, and Mithian's prayer for her men went with the raven. Looking towards the man she owed so much to, Mithian helped Connor back onto the patient bed and picked up the sleeping potion. "You need rest, after everything you've done these past few days…thank you."

"No problem. If you want to ask _anything_ , I'll help you."

Swallowing and looking away with a slow nod, for she knew what he meant, Mithian bid him good night and thank Elijah as she made to leave the room, but the shadow on the corridor wall made her turn around to see Elijah behind her,

"He matters to you, doesn't he?" the physician speculated, watching her casually.

Torn, Mithian struggled to articulate an answer. "I'm…grateful for what he has done. But…I'm sorry. Elijah, I…I don't know."

"No need to be flustered. I'm merely curious."

"Goodnight, Elijah. I appreciate your help."

"To you as well, Your Highness."

Feeling torn by the conversation at the physician's door, Mithian mindlessly made her way into her chambers and discovered her maidservant pacing and occasionally adjusting the decorations around the room. "Mithian!"

Feeling Lydia's contagious smile grace her own face, she braced herself for Lydia's hug as the woman rushed towards her. "It's good to be back," she remarked, returning the hug. "Please tell me that you haven't been worried sick the past two days?"

Sitting Mithian down on the end of the bed, Lydia gave her another relieved squeeze before giving a bit of space. "The court is one big gossip. Once Sirs Richard and Leofric arrived and left with more knights within an hour of their arrival, we knew something was wrong," the maidservant, but more importantly her friend explained while reluctant to let go of Mithian's hands as though she may slip away again.

"I'm alright, Lydia. You should go home and get some sleep," Mithian advised as she rose from the bed, a gentle grasp on the other woman's shoulders.

Most would have just nodded and gone on their way, but Lydia was a shrewd person. "I wouldn't say 'alright'," she remarked with a sharp eye. "Something is really bothering you, Mithian."

Nodding in admission, Mithian removed her cloak and put it into the washing basket by the door. "There are a lot of questions on my mind, but how is my father?"

"Restless like a caged bear," the woman said quietly, retrieving nightwear from the wardrobe. "He'll be awake again tonight, no doubt."

Mithian sighed after learning the stress the incident had inflicted upon her father.

"Go to him. I'll ready a bath for you," she encouraged, nodding at the door and taking the recurve bow from Mithian.

"Lydia, it's late-," Mithian protested, aware that Lydia was likely to be fatigued at this dark hour.

"Go," she insisted with a look, watching Mithian turn away to the door. "But don't think I've forgotten you changed the topic."

Smiling despite how tired she was, Mithian nodded in gratitude and left for her father's chambers.

In the darkness of night with the exception of the occasional bracket with a lit torch, Mithian kept her steps light and took the corners that were now committed to muscle memory after the many years as his daughter and heir.

She reached the final corridor and, as Lydia had told her, there was clear indication that her father was awake, from the light of candles peering out from under the frame to the sound of rustling from within. With all desire to end her father's worry, she made quick strides and rapped on the door, which halted the sound from inside.

"Enter," came the muffled permission.

Opening the door and closing it behind her quietly, Mithian turned around within her father's chambers and couldn't help the smile on her face at the sight of her father's happiness when he looked up from his desk.

"Mithian," he exclaimed, climbing out of his seat and rushing over.

Welcoming the embrace she rested against his shoulder. "I love you, Father," she murmured, relaxing into the tight but caring grasp of her father.

"And I, you, my daughter. I did everything in a king's power but still I feared the worst," he said quietly, loosening his hold to look at her face, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "To lose you would destroy me."

Looking up as he cupped her cheek, Mithian leant into it. "Let's see that it never happens."

"My heart wouldn't take the strain…You look exhausted, 'Thi," he uttered, embracing her fully once more.

"Very much so…"

She felt her father's gaze and meet his eyes. She barely noticed the hint of mischief until it was too late.

"Carry me?" she questioned indignantly before laughing. "We both know what happened last time."

King Rodor, her father, just smiled down at her as he held her bridal style. "Hmm…bit of an accident with all your tossing."

Deciding to humour him, she didn't fight it and leant into his chest to make it more manageable. _Let the man have his fun after all the worry he's no doubt been through._

The fatigue was making her into a deadweight and almost lulled to sleep by motion, but when it stopped she blearily forced her eyes open and saw they were about halfway there.

"You'll need a strapping young knight nowadays, sweetheart," he confessed, lowering Mithian down onto her feet.

Smiling at her ageing father, she walked beside him the rest of the way. "You did well."

"You're too kind, Mithian, but we both know I'm an old man."

She couldn't protest that fact and it scared her.

"Mithian."

She looked up, and his expression became sympathetic.

"I love you, dearest." King Rodor gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Treasure what we have and fear not of the future."

A tear slid down her cheek. "You make it sound so simple."

"Let's not despair just yet, 'Thi. Would you spend the day beside me tomorrow?"

"Yes, Father. Of course I would."

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End file.
